In the Face of Warfare
by Dr. Robin
Summary: Dr. Robin Shepherd, who's been at County General since before the beginning of the series, must cope after a neardeath experience. Her behavior brings about suspicion in the ER...  Chapters 22 through 24 now up! COMPLETE!
1. Chapters 1 through 3

_**Hello again, everyone! This is the tenth story in my series. Let me jsut say this, the story starts out kind goofy in the first two chapters, but it picks up in chapter three. PLEASE bear with me here. I want to thank those of you who read this---whether you like it or not---thank you for at least considering it. I'll be posting three chapters at a time. I hope you enjoy this story.**_

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_There is...in this (melancholic) humour, the very seeds of fire... In the daytime they are affrighted still by some terrible object, and torn in pieces with suspicion, fear, sorrow, discontents, cares, shame, anguish, etc., as so many wild horses, that they cannot be quiet an hour, a minute of time, but even against their wills they are intent, and still thinking of it, they cannot forget it, it grinds their souls day and night, they are perpetually tormented..."_

Robert Burton

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_You have no time to run from a face you do not expect._

Elizabeth Brown – _The Demon Lover_

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**-Part 1-**

"**Occupational Hazard"**

Exam 1 is dimly illuminated by the dusky light filtering in from outside. Dr. Robin Shepherd sleeps soundly on a gurney placed up against the wall. The blinds are closed, making everything serene and quiet.

Someone opens the door and stands for a second before saying, "Robin? _Dr. Shepherd?_"

Robin sighs and mumbles sarcastically, "Dr. Robin Shepherd is not _here_ at the moment, please leave a message after the beep. _Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_..." Her voice is low and muffled by her pillow.

"Well, when you get _back_, you have a patient with a laceration to the hand in Curtain 1," they tell her, amused by her sarcasm. Then, they let the door close as she continues to lay there, not moving.

Minutes later, the door to Exam 1 opens slowly and Dr. Shepherd shuffles out, reluctantly.

Sam stands beside her with the chart. "Name's Woods. Laceration to the left hand. Curtain 1."

"Alrighty!" Robin says cheerfully. She and Sam make their way to the patient. "Mr. Woods, I'm Dr. Shepherd. I hear ya got a big cut on your hand," she pauses to put on a pair of gloves. "And that is _one nasty _cut!" she says, looking under the sterile dressings; she winces, "How'd ya do that?"

As she sits down on a stool, he explains enthusiastically, "Well, I was at home, and I had just bought a bigger tank for my pet. I dropped the smaller one and the glass tank broke on the floor. I was trying to clean it up, but it cut me...so, now I'm here!"

"What kind of pet do ya have?" she asks, taking the dressings off and laying them on an instrument tray. "A tarantula!"

Her face contorts as she gets the mental image of it. "_Ew_, how do you _stand_ those things?! Don't they creep you out?" she asks, the Southern lilt in her voice sneaking out with the nervousness.

"Oh, not at all! They're very tame, actually," Mr. Woods says euphorically, "in fact, they're so gentle that I brought it with me! I didn't want to leave him all alone!"

"What?!" Shepherd says blankly, looking up suddenly in a state of shock.

"Yeah, he's right here!" he says, getting the shoe box that sits beside him. "His name is Tony!"

"_Tony, huh?!" _Robin questions—her voice high-pitched and nervous. She stares at the box as he removes the lid to show it to them. She squirms in her seat. Catching a glimpse of the large spider, she jumps up, kicks the stool out into the hallway with her awkward movements and backs away.

Everyone at the admit desk chuckles.

Gallant moves over to her laughing, "You want me to take this one?"

She nods nervously, raking her fingers through her hair. She ambles back to Exam 1.

"Arachnophobia?" Mr. Woods asks.

Gallant laughs, "Bingo!"

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**-Part 2-**

"**Before You Leave"**

Robin sleeps soundly once again in the dark exam room.

The door opens quietly, and closes. Susan quietly tiptoes over to her, smiling. She places a huge plastic spider on her stomach and puts a chart in her hand. Susan makes her way to the door, opens it and says to her, "Rob, you got another patient!" She walks out, laughing. She jogs over to the desk, where Abby, Luka, Gallant, Sam, and Jerry stand—waiting.

In Exam 1, Robin sighs and grips the chart in her hand. She lifts her head and spots the fake prop resting on her stomach. _"__**Whoa**__shh__—!" _she says to herself as she clumsily hops off the gurney, nearly falling on the floor. She backs up against the wall, messing up the blinds in the window.

Everyone outside laughs, trying to hold their laughter back. Their faces turn blood-red.

"I think she found it!" Abby laughs.

A sheet partially covers the plastic spider that has been tossed back onto the gurney in the commotion. Shepherd frantically searches for something to hit it with. She looks at the chart, "This should be good enough," she says and slowly moves toward the gurney—breathing heavily and visibly shaken by her phobia. She talks to it—thinking that it is real, "_That's__ right! __There_ ya go! Play hide-and-seek with me..." She raises the chart and brings it down, "okay, ya little piece a-_**crap**_" The force almost makes the gurney tip over. She catches it before it falls and sets it upright. She then notices the strange sound it made when she struck the spider with the clipboard and looks confused. She hits it again—this time with almost no enthusiasm at all. Then, she realizes that it is a joke, sighs and laughs at herself.

The pranksters wait for Robin to come out of the room. They try to hold back their laughter when they see the door open, and they pretend to be working.

"Have trouble sleeping?" Susan asks.

She smiles, reaching the desk, "Funny..._very funny!_"

They all giggle. "Sorry, we needed to pull a prank on someone," Luka grins.

Robin smiles as she puts the spider on the shelf under the desk to where she cannot see it, then asks, "So..._my patient_?"

"Suture room," Abby giggles.

Robin gives her a thumbs-up and ambles toward the suture room. Everybody laughs and smiles at each other.

Dr. Shepherd enters the room and grins at the woman sitting on the gurney, "Hi there, Ms. DeSalvo. I'm Dr. Shepherd. I hear ya got a cut on your arm."

DeSalvo—a woman in her early to mid-30s—looks down at her right forearm, laughs and says, "Yeah, I was working on my car that broke down a while ago down the block, and when I was checking the oil and everything, the hood of the car fell and cut my arm!"

"Gosh, I'm sorry to hear that," she says as she pulls a stool over and sits down. She inspects the wound and nods her head, "Well, you're gonna need stitches!" She pauses. "Are you allergic to any medications?" she asks, opening a suture kit that rests on an instrument tray beside her.

"Not that I'm aware of, no," Ms. DeSalvo tells her. She winces as Shepherd begins to irrigate the laceration.

Minutes later, Shepherd is finished stitching the woman's arm. She wraps a roll of sterile gauze around her arm and smiles, "Well, there ya go! All finished!"

"Alright then," DeSalvo says, "thank you, Dr. Shepherd! I hate to leave in such a rush, but I have an errand to run."

"You're welcome, and don't worry about it," she tells her, as the woman grabs her purse and coat. "Have a nice night!"

The woman's voice trails off into the hallway as she walks out, "Thank you! You, too!"

Time passes, and Robin emerges from the lounge with her heavy coat on and a scarf around her neck. "I'm off! See you guys tomorrow!"

"Hey, be careful! It's a full moon outside. Watch out for the freaks!" Susan shouts from the desk.

As Robin reaches the doors, she turns her head and smiles, "You guys be careful, too! But, don't worry about me! I'll be _fine_!"

"We'll try to," she smiles. "Night."

Robin walks through the doors, "Night."

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**-Part 3-**

"**Strike Down"**

Emerging from the bathroom—after just giving herself a shot of insulin—Robin walks into the kitchen. She grabs a Diet Coke from inside the fridge and a large sub sandwich that sits on the counter, then makes her way into the living room.

She sits down on the couch with a sigh, putting her food on the coffee table. She picks up the remote and turns on the television. She waits a moment and adjusts the volume. Smiling as she watches an episode of "Late Night with Conan O' Brien", she opens the can of Coke.

Someone knocks on her door. She puts the can down and turns the television off. She ponders on whether to open the door or not—she is starving and the sandwich is practically calling her name at this point. She gives in and stands up. Jogging over to the door, she unlocks it and opens it.

Ms. DeSalvo greets her with a smile. "Dr. Shepherd, _hi_," she says, "I just stopped by to give you this!" In her arms, she carries a gift with green wrapping paper and a multi-colored bow tied around it.

"Ms. DeSalvo, you _really_ don't have to do this for me. Really," Robin says, wondering how she knows where she lives and that she would be here at this hour.

"I won't take no for an answer," she says cheerfully. "You helped me so much today and I just wanted to thank you!"

Robin looks confused, "All I did was stitch up your arm."

"_I_ know, but still," she replies. She points to the end table a few feet behind Robin, "Can I put this right over there?"

"Uh, sure. Go right ahead," Robin smiles, but still wonders. "Can I get you anything while you're here?"

"No, that's alright," DeSalvo says. Her tone becomes ominous, "You've done enough."

Robin turns toward the door. _How the __hell__ does she know that I live here? _She puts her left hand above the doorknob as her right hand grasps it. She hears the noise of the wrapping paper rip loudly, the box open, and the tissue inside rustle. She closes the door momentarily to keep the cool air from the hall out. _What the hell is she doin'? _she thinks, still unaware of the woman's cruel intentions. Before she can turn her head, something rams into her upper side. She shuts her eyes. The sound is deafening to her—hearing her ribs snap with the force. She hears nothing else except that. The impact throws her into the wall beside her, causing her head to collide with it, as well. She slides down onto the floor fairly quickly. She holds her side, breathing heavily—her face contorting from the pain.

After a moment, she finally pushes herself over with her left hand; her back leaning against the wall. She sits with her legs sprawled out in front of her, and she starts to feel the warm, thick blood seep through her green scrub top and onto her hand. She brings it out in front of her face; she looks at her hand as if it belongs to someone else. It's so red. It's hers. The blood runs down her wrist and arm. And in this moment, she knows. Something's wrong. She opens her eyes to see DeSalvo standing above her holding something in her right hand, raised up behind her head. Then, she quickly brings it back down in a backhanded motion, striking Robin in the side of the head.

Robin slumps over onto the floor, unconscious now. As she lays motionless on the floor, the wound that stretches from her forehead to her cheek begins to bleed. It's a clean cut, but it bleeds as though it were an open wound. The blood slowly streaks down her face in many places—down her cheek and down her chin and neck; over her nose and down her other cheek; and across her forehead, over her eyelid, and down her other cheek. It drips onto the floor, forming a dark puddle.

A threatening, intense energy engulfs the atmosphere in Robin's dark apartment. The entire place is desolate. There is blood in the air. Nothing moves. Everything mute. Cold.

Robin loses precious time—time she will never get back. Will she see another day?

Her struggle is just beginning.**

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_I hope you liked this story better than the last. Let me know what you think._


	2. Chapters 4 through 6

**-Part 4- **

**"Wait and Bleed"**

At the ER, Abby walks out of the lounge with a heavy coat on.

"Good luck on the ride-along," Susan says from the desk with a smile on her face.

"Thanks," Abby smiles, "I need all the luck I can get."

Susan chuckles as Abby walks out of the ambulance bay doors.

Outside, Gallant and Neela stand, shivering in the cold. They hear the doors slide open and turn their heads. Abby walks up to them, putting on a pair of winter gloves. "Workin' as a nurse tonight, huh?" Gallant asks.

"Yup," she answers, and puts her hands in the warm pockets of her coat.

Gallant hesitates. "It's strange seeing you as a med student, Abby."

She looks puzzled, "Why's that?"

"You're a great med student, don't get me _wrong_," he explains, "but, you're everybody's favorite nurse." He pauses. "You're the best nurse I've ever worked with. You still _are_. You're the best nurse on the floor."

Abby grins, flattered by his honesty; but, she also wonders if she did the right thing by going back to med school. In a way, she regrets it. Still, she is not quite sure what to do. "Thanks," she smiles, spotting the ambulance driving up.

It comes to a stop, and paramedics Pickman and Zadro stick their heads out of their windows. "You three ready?" Zadro shouts over the hum of the engine. They all nod and walk to the back of the ambulance. Gallant lifts the latch, opens the doors, and lets Neela and Abby get in. He climbs aboard and closes the doors; then, they drive out of the ambulance bay.

Inside, Neela wonders out loud, "You think we'll see anything interesting?"

At her apartment, Robin lays motionless. Blood covers her face, side, and the floor. Suddenly, her eyes begin to twitch underneath their lids. Her eyes open slowly. Blurriness. She blinks several times to clear her vision. It becomes normal again. She is so disoriented that she does not even realize she is on the floor—her head is a fog. The dizziness makes it hard to focus on anything around her. There's blood on her hand, and her blank eyes stare at it. She makes out what appears to be a telephone cord. She is terrified to move, but realizes this might be her only chance to save herself.

Robin manages to get up and balance herself on her hands and knees. She starts to move over to the phone—only a few feet away. With every inch, the pain intensifies. She gives in and lowers herself back to the floor. Tears fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She reaches out for the phone cord, about three feet away. Then, with the last bit of energy she has at this moment, she pushes herself closer with one hand. She grabs the cord and lets her arm hit the floor. The phone tumbles off of the end table—the exact one with the mangled gift wrappings laying strewn about—and the base of the phone lands on her hand. Her hand flinches and she holds her breath until the pain subsides.

Moments later, her rapid breathing returns. She reaches for the receiver slowly—in immense pain. She's unaware to her, DeSalvo still lurks in the apartment. The woman stands behind her; then, strikes her arm which is still reaching out for the phone. Feeling the severe pain shoot through her arm, Robin's teeth clench together and she lets out a muffled scream.

DeSalvo begins beating her sporadically on her legs and back. She focuses on her legs, thinking that she will chase after her. She does not want that to happen. She pummels her erratically with a black metal object, as she mumbles to herself—muffled by the weapon slicing through the air and the sound of the blows Robin receives with it. An insane look of anger and chilling lack of remorse remain constant throughout the crazed, hostile attack.

Vehemently, she delivers the last blow. She rises to her feet and tosses the weapon onto the floor, paying no attention to the loud sound it makes as it hits. She walks to the large window leading to the fire escape and opens it. She climbs out, lowers the glass back down, and disappears.

Robin lays on the floor, her body tense with pain—paralyzed with fear. Tears flow from her eyes as she lays on her stomach—her left arm under her. She moves her hand to the receiver after what seems like hours to her. She dials 911.

A man picks up on the other end. She mumbles incoherently. She has the sensation of losing all power, a terrifying seepage of strength. Her eyes become heavy. They flutter even after they close. She still continues to mumble in a broken stream of phrases and parts of words, not making any sense and barely able to discern. She can feel the darkness beckon to her from afar...but, yet, it's so close.

"Hello?" the man says. "Hello? Is anyone there? Is everything okay? _Hello?_"

_(The man keeps shouting even as the sound fades into mute silence.)_

Blood slowly seeps onto the floor as you seem to rise toward the ceiling, seeing Robin laying lifeless. Wounded. Helpless. The puddle slowly begins to form around her body. Her scrubs, stained a dark red.

Neela, Abby, and Gallant sit quietly in the back of the ambulance. They look quite bored, as the motion jostles them from side to side.

A voice comes over the ambulance radio:

_"Any available unit, any available unit—report to the corner of 63rd and Ashland. No information was given by the caller, who is most likely unconscious..." _

"Gallant, Neela," Pickman shouts as Zadro turns the siren on, "you two are gonna have to ride with us on this first call, we don't have time to go back to the station."

"That's fine," Gallant tells her.

Abby listens to the call for help. She notices the address; then, goes numb. _Oh, my God. Please don't let it be her. Tell me it's not her. _"C'mon, what's the apartment number? C'mon," she says to herself.

Gallant and Neela watch her, confused. They know something is horribly wrong.

"Abby," Neela asks sympathetically, "Abby, who lives there?"

Transfixed and staring straight ahead listening to the radio, she does not answer. She focuses on the report. "What's the apartment number?" she asks aloud once more.

_"...apartment is on the fifth floor. Apartment number is unknown at this time..." _

Abby sits silently, angered and disappointed. She closes her eyes, sighing. _Oh, God. Please. Don't let it be her. Dammit, please. She means so much to us, please. _

Neela asks again, "Abby, who's apartment do you think it is?"

She stays silent for a moment. "Robin," she fights back her tears, "it's Robin's."

Gallant and Neela become anxious—terrified. The siren begins to wail as Zadro races to the scene, after hearing Abby.

Pickman leans over and looks into the back, "Don't worry, we're only two blocks away. We'll be the first ones there."

"Maybe it's not her," Gallant shouts, "maybe it's one of her neighbors."

Abby says nothing; just sits there staring at the stretcher in front of her. She knows that it's Robin. She has never been this sure of anything in her life. All of the noises and the constant drone of the sirens suddenly disappear, as she imagines the worst.

Meanwhile, the phone has been off of the hook for so long that the monotonous "buzzing" tone now sounds. The lights in her apartment are no longer on. The red slowly pools around Robin on the floor---laying in the darkness.

As her friends race closer, Robin's life hangs by a thread.

_She is not dead—this friend—not dead, _

_But in the path we mortals tread. _

_Got some few trifling steps ahead _

_ And nearer to the end; _

_So that you, too, once past the bend, _

_Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend _

_ You fancy dead. _

Robert Louis Stevenson _(verses written in 1872) _

**-Part 5- **

**"Breathless"**

The five friends burst through the front doors of the apartment building carrying equipment.

"The elevator never works, we'll have to take the stairs," Abby says, leading them to the flights of stairs at the far end of the lobby.

"Where do you think _you're_ goin?" asks the night watchman, who sits in the center of the lobby.

"We got a call," Gallant yells at him harshly, "someone called 911 from the fifth floor of _this_ building, and you are _not_ gonna stop us from doing our job! Do you understand me?!"

The guard sits back down, letting them go without any more questions.

The five of them stay silent, reserved, as they ascend the stairs; partly because of Gallant's tone of voice in the lobby, the urgency and fear surprised them—he hardly ever raises his voice to anyone; the other reason being the looming situation itself.

Exhausted and out of breath, everyone reaches the top of the stairs at the fifth floor. Abby keeps going, turning to her left and proceeding down the hallway to Robin's apartment. The others watch her. Then, they split up into pairs of two and start knocking on apartment doors to locate where the call has come from.

_I never crossed your threshold with a grief _

_ But that I went without it; never came _

_Heart hungry but you fed me, eased the blame, _

_ And gave the sorrow solace and relief. _

Abby walks closer to the door. The atmosphere outside the apartment is heavy and cumbersome. She can barely breathe as she comes to a stop in front of the door. She closes her eyes and knocks quietly. She listens. She knocks again, "Robin, it's me. It-It's Abby."

She waits for her to answer. She never does. Silence. Abby's concern overwhelms her. She grows impatient and grabs the doorknob...it is unlocked. Her heart beats rapidly as she opens the door slowly. She opens it just enough so she can reach the light switch. She flips the switch. The lights stay unlit. She switches it on and off over and over again. No lights.

Abby knows something is desperately wrong. She opens the door a little wider. Numbness consumes her. Something catches her eye: blood splattered on the wall; the puddles that had formed on the floor where Robin had once rested; the smell of blood in the warm air that flows out of the apartment and into the hall. Abby pushes the door open with such force that it hits the wall—making the floor shake beneath her feet. She follows the trail of blood over to an enormous stain near the end table. The lights streaming through the window falls on the floor where Abby sees the stain.

She suddenly realizes who she is looking at. Every drop of blood in her body runs cold. Adrenaline rushes through her veins as she walks quickly over to Robin—left for dead and lying in wait. Abby falls to her knees and places her hands on her back—sticky with hot, slippery blood. "Oh, God," she says, almost whispering; a note of panic creeps into her voice. Abby feels her breathing, then checks for a pulse.

The others, still checking with the neighbors, hear Abby's cry for help. _"I need some help in here! It's Robin!!"_ she chokes out.

They sprint down the hallway. Gallant enters and stops dead in his tracks, "Oh, my God." He runs over and kneels down on Robin's other side. Pickman, Neela, and Zadro run in. They rush over to her and kneel down—Zadro and Pickman focus their attention on Robin's fractured right leg, while Neela puts her hands on Robin's bloodied head to immobilize it. They all help to roll her onto her back. "Dear God," Neela says at the gruesomeness of it all. They all relate.

_I never left you but I took away _

_ The love that drew me to your side again _

_Through that door that never could remain _

_ Quite closed between us for a little day_

Zadro and Pickman have the backboard, ready to slide it under Robin's back. Zadro shakes his head, "We should've waited for the police to get here, we're not supposed to barge in like this. For all we know, whoever did this could still be here..."

"What? And let her bleed to death while we waited? I don't think so," Gallant says.

Abby looks behind her at the object that she had noticed when she first opened the door. "Neela," she asks nervously, "do you see that black thing over there?"

"Yeah," she answers after looking over the coffee table, "why?"

"Go see what it is," Abby tells her.

Focused on helping them with the backboard, she replies, "I can't, I'm—"

"I _have_ to know," Abby interrupts her, raising her voice, "now go see what it is!"

Neela looks at her, then understands why Abby is yelling at her. She gets up and steps over the end of the table. Kneeling down, she examines it—making sure not to handle it too much in case there may be any evidence on it. "It looks like a crowbar," she says, "or a tire iron of some kind."

Holding back her tears in vain, Abby helps Gallant strap Robin's head to the board. Her hands shake as she puts the tape across her forehead—keeping her head still. Neela's words make everyone shudder. To think that someone would do something so grisly to her is too much to bear. They try their hardest to repress their feelings, for the time being, as they all take hold of the board and lift Robin up. Their knees soaked with blood from the carpet, where they have been kneeling beside her.

Carrying her out of the blackness that emanates from the apartment—now a tomb—no one utters a word. Abby looks over her shoulder at the puddles and streaks of red on the floor and the wall. They step out of the doorway into the hall. Abby, still dazed and shaken, stares at the open door as they walk down the hallway. Everything moves in slow-motion in her mind. She sees two police officers and three fire fighters emerge at the top of the stairs—they don't appear to be too happy, raising their voices at everyone and telling them that they should've waited for assistance. The officers continue on down the hall toward Robin's open apartment, shaking their heads, and the firemen assist in carrying her down the flights of stairs.

Abby then looks down at Robin's bloody face and scrubs. She is reminded of her own assault two years ago.

_Robin's shift had ended and she was walking to the El, when an ambulance drove by. Morales, another paramedic, rolled down his window and yelled, "Dr. Shepherd," but she could not make out the rest of it. They were going too fast. They turned the corner and sped into the ambulance bay. A moment later, Robin's pager went off. The message appeared. Without hesitating, she took off down the sidewalk. Robin never slipped as she dashed through the ice and dirty snow piled in the ambulance bay. She looked like an Olympic marathon sprinter bursting through the doors to the ER. She made her way past the front desk, and Frank asked her something. She payed no attention and jogged past the trauma rooms. _

_Abby remembers seeing Robin run up to the door, putting a hand out to stop herself. She looked over through the large window in the door and just stood, out of breath. A blank stare was on her face. She put a hand on the door and pushed it open slowly. She walked up to her silently, as Susan made sure that her jaw wasn't broken. Susan then moved to the foot of the bed. Robin sat down next to Abby. Nothing was said. Abby felt safe—gentleness exuded from both of the women sitting near her. Robin never left the room that night, until Abby was able to leave. That was the night she realized she had two friends who actually cared. That was new to her. _

_Oh! Friend, who gave and comforted, who knew _

_ So overwell the want of heart and mind, _

_Where may I turn for the solace now, or find _

_ Relief from this unceasing loss of you? _

Abby's eyes fill with tears. A hopeful grin appears on her face through all of the pain and grief. She keeps her eyes on her still.

_Be it for fault, for folly, or for sin, _

_ Oh! terrible my penance, and most sore _

_To face the tragedy of that closed door _

_ Whereby I pass and may not enter in. _

Theodosia Garrison – "The Closed Door"

**-Part 6- **

**"If I Should Die Tonight"**

At the ER, Susan, Luka, Pratt, Sam, and Jerry relax at the desk. As they chat amongst themselves, they suddenly hear a frantic voice over the radio:

_"This is Michael Gallant to County General, somebody pick up, please!" _

Luka rushes over and patches them through, "Gallant, it's Luka. What's wrong?"

_"It's Robin, she's been attacked! Looks like whoever did this was tryin' to kill her!" _

They hear Zadro shout from beside him:

_"Hey! Dude, you can't say that over the radio, man!" _

_"I don't care! She would want 'em to know that it's her!" _

Everyone stands and comes over, listening to the terrifying call. Luka asks with urgency, "How bad is she?"

_"Really bad! She's in shock: BP is 91 over 54; pulse 159, weak and thready; resps shallow at 28!" _

"What's your ETA?" Luka questions.

_"About 5 minutes!" _

"Alright," he says, "we'll be ready."

Everyone snaps into action, but their minds are a haze. They think about nothing as they gather supplies and put on their gloves and yellow gowns.

Then, they wait—their minds still racing. They appear calm, but inside they feel like they are bound by a straightjacket. The adrenaline flows between each of them as they stand silently in the ambulance bay—despite the bitter cold that cuts through them like a knife. They feel nothing on the outside.

The unexpected has stricken the heart of the ER once more. It is a time of desperation and lament that shakes the entire staff to their very core.

"Rob?" Abby says tearfully, "It's me, Abby. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

Still mouthing random words incoherently in her altered state, she does not respond. Abby, who sits near her head, takes a penlight and lifts Robin's eyelids. "Pupils are dilated," she informs, shining the light into her eyes. She puts the penlight away and starts to bag her, giving her more oxygen.

Neela reaches over with a thermometer and puts it in her ear, "Temp's 96.9."

"Damn, put another blanket over her," Abby says. After the three of them put another blanket on top of her, silence falls in the vehicle.

Neela says down-heartedly, "I hope this is the worst of it."

Pickman nods in agreement, sitting in the captain's chair.

Zadro and Gallant appear to be almost sick as they sit in the front of the ambulance.

Abby leans forward, putting her hand on Robin's arm. "You've gotta fight," she tells her. She watches her slowly slipping away. _Oh, God, please don't let her die. This isn't the end. She's gotta pull through this. Take me instead, please. She doesn't deserve this. God, she was fine a few hours ago. She's my best friend. Please. Don't end it like this. She means so much to us. Don't take her away from us. Don't. Save her. _

They sit in silence as the ambulance speeds toward the hospital.

_If I should die tonight, _

_My friends would look upon my quiet face, _

_Before they laid it in its resting place, _

_And dream that death had left it almost fair, _

_And laying snow-white flowers against my hair, _

_Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness, _

_And fold my hands with lingering caress— _

_Poor hands, so empty and so cold tonight! _

_If I should die tonight, _

_My friends would call to mind with loving thought _

_Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought; _

_Some gentle word the frozen lips had said; _

_Errands on which the willing feet had sped. _

_The memory of my selfishness and pride, _

_My hast words, would all be put aside, _

_And so I should be loved and mourned tonight. _

_ If I should die tonight, _

_Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, _

_Recalling other days remorsefully. _

_The eyes that chill me with averted glance _

_Would look upon me as of yore, perchance _

_Would soften in the old familiar way; _

_For who would war with dumb, unconscious clay? _

_So I might rest, forgiven of all tonight. _

_ O friends, I pray tonight _

_Keep not your kisses from my dead, cold brow; _

_The way is lonely, let me feel them now. _

_Think gently of me; I am travel worn; _

_My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. _

_Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! _

_When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need _

_The tenderness for which I long tonight. _

Arabella Eugenia Smith – "If I Should Die Tonight"


	3. Chapters 7 through 9

**-Part 7- **

**"Dead of Night"**

The ambulance doors swing open, and Gallant jumps out of the front and rushes over next to Sam. Neela, and Abby help guide the stretcher out of the vehicle.

A desperate urgency falls upon everyone.

Susan runs over as they start moving. "Oh, my God," she says, helping them inside. She sees Robin's blood-covered scrubs and the brutality she's gone through.

"Any changes in vitals?" Luka asks, walking up next to them. He can't help but stare at her face.

"Barely," Neela replies, "She's decompensated: BP's 90 over 58; pulse still weak and thready at 159; resps 28 and shallow. She's cyanotic; we got her on a 100 percent non-rebreather, at 15 liters-per-minute. We applied a Sager to the right leg. She's responsive to painful stimuli, but her reflexes are diminished. Temp's 96.7. GCS is 7."

Susan adds, "Probable rib fractures on the left. Open fracture to the right tibia."

Entering Trauma 2, Robin begins to awaken.

"She's coming to," Abby says—almost laughing with relief.

"Robin," Luka grins, "we're glad you're back with us... Do you know where you are?"

She seems very disoriented. Her voice is quiet and strained, "How stupid do ya think I _am_? I'm home."

Gallant talks to her, "Close, you're at County."

_"Duh," _she says, "this place _is_ my home—w-what the hell happened? My head's _killin'_ me."

Everyone glances at one another. "You don't remember?" Susan questions.

"No," she answers.

Gallant tells her, "From the looks of your apartment, someone attacked you."

_"What?!" _she raises her voice—obviously not believing any of this. She notices the concern in everyone's eyes.

"Rob," Abby says, moving toward her head, "we're gonna roll you on your side to see if we can find out where all this blood is coming from, okay?"

"Blood?" she asks.

Abby nods and sighs, "Yeah, you're soaked in it."

Robin starts panicking, "Aw, **_Jesus_**!"

"Rob, calm down! Alright?" she reassures her.

Robin's eyes get larger as she panics, "Oh, God!"

Everyone stands in their positions. Abby takes Robin's head in her hands.

Susan orders, "Ready? One, two, three. _Roll her!_" Susan, Luka, and Neela examine her wounds on her back and legs.

Abby, holding Robin's head still, tries to see the damage that has been done: the bleeding contusions and the bruising. She stares, in horror at the dead pallor of her skin. Then, almost involuntarily, she looks away—closing her eyes.

"Why do I always get put in _here_ when there's something wrong with me?" Robin says unexpectedly. Confused about her odd behavior, no one says anything pertaining to her question. They roll her over onto her back again.

"I've never noticed how _pretty_ the color is in this room, I mean these tiles are just a _beautiful_ shade of _green_!" she rambles on.

Abby does not quite know what to think about her "inappropriate" conversation topics. Then it hits everyone—probable frontal lobe damage.

"Let's get a CBC, EEG, ultrasound; get X-ray down here; page Corday; and where the _hell_ is Pratt?" Luka asks.

Susan informs, "He went upstairs just before they got here. He should be back anytime."

Sam rushes in, "Heated saline and O-neg's here!" She looks at Robin, not believing her eyes—she wonders how the person who did this could be so cold, nearly killing her.

Abby grabs the saline, and they put the bags on two different IV stands.

"Hang two units on the rapid infuser; and Abby, start another IV," Susan says.

Gallant stands at the end of the gurney with his hand on the bottom of Robin's foot. "Rob, press on my hand like a gas pedal."

She struggles as she holds her breath through clinched teeth. Her foot barely moves, but it is enough to set his mind at ease.

"Good, good."

She finally breathes again and says, "God, that hurt like a **_son_** of a bitch!" After a moment, she suddenly seems dazed and spaced out.

"What's wrong?" Luka asks. She appears delirious momentarily.

"Just a little dizzy, that's all."

"It might be your sugar," Abby suggests. "Did you eat anything when you got home?"

"I _think_ I was about to. Yeah I remember I had a big sandwich," she says, then sighs, "that _sucks_."

Sam wears a confused grin, "What does?"

Robin says in a disappointed tone, "I didn't get to eat my _damn_ **_sandwich_**!"

Smiles break everyone's depressed frowns, and Neela tests her blood sugar. "It's normal: 136."

"_Huh_!" Robin exclaims, "That's kinda funny! I mean, considering that I di—" and she falls unconscious in the middle of her sentence. The monitors go off—beeping and droning. She starts to convulse violently, shaking and twitching. Everyone holds her down to keep her from injuring herself even more. Strange noises come from her throat.

"She's _vomiting_, roll her," Luka shouts.

She continues to seize as they hold her on her side, letting the fluid drain from her mouth. She finally stops vomiting, and they roll her onto her back—still convulsing.

Susan shouts, "Let's get fifteen mics1 of Dilantin on board! She can't take much _more_ of this!"

"Got it," Sam shouts, as she gives Robin a dose of the anticonvulsant. They wait silently, listening to the machines' alarms.

She stops moving, but the heart monitor goes haywire.

"Dammit," Susan says, "she's in v-tach! Paddles!"

Abby grabs the crash-cart.

"Charge it to 200," she says.

Abby turns the dial to 200, as Susan readies the defibrullator paddles.

"Alright, _clear_!" she shouts. She places the paddles on Robin's chest and activates them—sending electricity surging throughout her body. They watch the monitor.

"Still v-tach," Abby informs.

"Again! _Clear!_" she repeats.

Robin's body jolts from the electricity. The machine beeps as her heart starts to beat normally again.

Abby smiles, "Normal sinus rhythm." They all breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm back. How is she?" Pratt asks, pushing past the cops outside and bursting through the doors. He then sees the extent of her injuries, and suddenly becomes quiet—blown away by what's happened to her.

Everything remains relatively calm for the time being. But the nerve-racking ordeal has left the staff frustrated and melancholy. Empty—drained of every once of energy and feeling they have. They wonder if they can survive another situation such as this—if one should happen to arise in the future—let alone, surviving the night.

Elizabeth—who came down from surgery as soon as she heard—is now standing with Susan and Luka, looking over Robin's head CT and X-rays. "_Look_ at this," she says in disbelief, "a _badly_ broken leg, _two_ broken ribs, and she's _covered_ in contusions and lacerations!"

"Looks like she's got some frontal lobe damage, too," Susan points out on the CT.

Luka says, sounding exhausted, "It could be _worse_."

The three of them agree, and Elizabeth gathers the films to take to the OR with her.

Neela sits next to Robin, stitching the laceration on her head.

Abby sits on the other side of the gurney, resting her arms on it. She keeps waiting for her to wake up, but she knows that she probably won't.

Neela watches as Abby then puts her head down next to Robin's shoulder and closes her eyes. Neela grins, then finishes by cutting the thread and placing the scissors and extra thread on an instrument tray.

"Looks like she's holding her own," Elizabeth says with a bleak grin.

"She's a fighter..." Susan tells everyone, trying to calm their nerves, "always has been."

A moment passes. They all seem to be waiting here, silent, watching as though they're standing at the open casket. What should they say? What should they do? The thought of what has almost happened makes them shudder.

"Okay, let's head up to Radiology for an MRI since she's stable right now," Elizabeth says. She looks at Robin, and she is reminded of the night Lucy died. She stands next to Neela, transfixed.

"Elizabeth?" Susan asks, realizing that something is wrong.

Her thoughts disappear suddenly, and she takes a deep breath, "Alright, let's go." She wears a grin to cover up her sadness. The side rails are raised, and the staff begin to wheel their fallen comrade out of the trauma room and into the main hall—walking somberly, slowly, the whole way.

Everyone reaches the elevators and they say nothing. Everyone is quiet. Abby presses the button for the elevator as they wait. Robin's angels stand in silence.

They were all so shocked when they first saw her—they thought they felt their hearts stop. Her skin so white, arms limp, face like a ghost—lifeless. The blood, how when it's someone you love, it seems brighter...more terrifying; they all feel this way.

The door slides open. Abby, Susan, and Elizabeth guide the gurney in as they board. They look at the others with worry in their eyes.

"We'll update you if anything goes wrong," Elizabeth tells them.

"Okay," Luka says, grinning slightly.

The doors shut, and Elizabeth closes her eyes and rests her head on the wall behind her.

_When some great sorrow, like a mighty river, _

_ Flows through your life with peace-destroying power, _

_And dearest things are swept from sight forever, _

_ Say to your heart each trying hour: _

_ "This, too, shall pass away." _

Lanta Wilson Smith – "This, Too, Shall Pass Away"

* * *

**-Part 8-**

**"Unwilling to Leave"**

Elizabeth stands next to the gurney on which Robin lays. She helps the others prep her for surgery, which she rarely ever does. A knock on the window startles her, and she looks over to see Susan and Abby standing in the observation room. She smiles somewhat and leaves the room.

Susan holds the MRI scan of Robin's head.

Elizabeth walks up to them and studies it. "There's nothing too serious, thank God, just some frontal lobe damage," she indicates.

Abby nods, "That's what caused the seizure."

"Yeah, it must be," Susan agrees. "The ultrasound didn't show any internal bleeding, and her blood sugar was normal."

They say nothing for a moment. Then, Elizabeth asks sympathetically, "Are you two alright? You seem exhausted."

They both nod, smiling. "How 'bout you?" Abby asks, "_You_ okay?"

She sighs and confesses, "Y'know, I haven't been this scared in _quite_ a while."

"Me, too," Susan says.

Abby also agrees, "Me, three."

"Yeah," Elizabeth sighs and looks in at their fallen colleague—laying lifeless, with a tube down her throat that is hooked up to a respirator to help her breathe; IVs in her arms; units of blood, ready for transfusions. "Well, I've got to scrub in. See you afterwards," she grins; then, leaves.

Abby and Susan stand silently, peering into the operating room. Then, Susan steps over to the phone.

Downstairs in the ER, Jerry is busy searching for something on the computer when the phone rings. He picks up, "ER."

"Jerry," Susan requests, "do you need Abby and me to come down for anything?"

He looks a bit confused, "No, everything's fine, Dr. Lewis. Uh, is Rob okay?"

"Yeah, they just took her into surgery," she answers. "The reason I wanted to know is because I think we're gonna stick around and see that she makes it through."

Jerry nods, "Alright, that sounds like a good idea. I'll talk to ya later, then. Bye."

"Was that Susan?" Luka questions.

"Yeah, she said they just took her into surgery," he tells him. "They're gonna stay to make sure she pulls through."

Luka seems relieved, "Good...good."

Later, Abby and Susan watch helplessly as Elizabeth and an orthopaedic surgeon try to repair Robin's severely broken leg. Suddenly, they see Dr. Robert Romano walk in. They are struck dumb, because his shift does not even start for another three hours. They are surprised that he would even think about assisting, because it seems like he doesn't even care the slightest _bit_ when it comes to the staff. But he surprises everyone every once in a while.

Robert walks over on the opposite side, across from Elizabeth. Since his accident with the helicopter on the roof of the hospital, holding a clamp and very few other tasks is all he can do now. Even though he doesn't have to, he does his job as he stands in the awkwardly quiet operating room.

Susan and Abby watch every move that is made. They stare through th large windows, and are so captivated, that they don't even notice two chairs behind them—on which they could sit and rest while they watch. A look of concern crosses their faces as Elizabeth and the other surgeon prepare to drill surgical screws into Robin's exposed leg bone. The orthopaedic surgeon starts to carefully drill, and the sound alone sends chills up their spines. After a moment, Abby has finally had enough and looks away. Susan sighs and does the same.

The drilling continues for several minutes. When the awful sounds subside, they glance back into the room. Romano turns to face them. Then, with reassuring eyes, he nods his head. They do the same, with hints of small grins on their faces.

The two friends now sit in the chairs; but even though they are resting, they continue to keep their eyes glued to everything happening in front of them; the anxiety is pure torture. They ponder on whether Robin will be the same person—the vicious attack may very well change her dramatically. Will she have the same affectionate personality she had just hours ago? Will she still have the loyalty and charm that she has had for all of these years? Will she lose _herself? _

_To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven; _

Ecclesiastes3:1

Elizabeth and Robert remove their gloves and masks and finally emerge from the time-consuming procedure.

Abby and Susan rise out of their chairs in anticipation and walk out into the hallway.

The four of them stand together—heartsick. No one mutters a single word for what seems like an eternity.

"Everything went smoothly," Elizabeth says—sounding very distant and sullen.

Robert stares bleakly at nothing in particular. "Hopefully, she'll be alright from here on out," he adds.

Their demeanor is reminiscent of the chilling Valentine's night—that, for everyone there that night, will be etched into their memory for the rest of their lies.

"God, I haven't felt like this since we lost Lucy," Robert admits. Abby and Elizabeth can sympathize with him—they were there that night. But, Susan knows what it feels like to lose someone, also. The atmosphere brings to them a feeling that Robin is already gone—that they have lost her. But, they haven't yet.

Two nurses wheel her out of the OR. "We can take her from here," Elizabeth tells them. They all grab the gurney rails, and the four of them start down the hall toward the post-op rooms.

Minutes later, the four of them stand in the private post-op room. Robert and Elizabeth check Robin's vital signs. "Everything looks better than it did earlier," she informs them.

"Thank God," Abby says softly.

Elizabeth turns to them and inquires, "When are your shifts over?"

"They ended about two hours ago," Susan confesses.

Robert looks up from Robin's chart and insists—somewhat nicely, "Go home. Come back later."

"No," Abby says bluntly, with no desire to leave her friend's side, "I wanna stay."

"So do I," Susan agrees.

"Neither of you have slept in hours," Elizabeth tells them, "and I _know_ you want to stay, but you two need a break."

Both of them finally agree, and as they stand next to Robin, tears rise in their eyes.

"Bye, Rob," Susan whispers.

Abby adds, "We'll be back later." Then, Abby grabs Robin's hand. She lets it go and starts to walk away—Susan does the same. They squeeze her hand, wishing she would squeeze back, only for a moment. They leave the room, and then stand to watch for a moment. They grin at Elizabeth and Robert, then walk out of sight.

Now the two surgeons stand on either side of Robin, and all they can do is listen to the monitor and the respirator as it pushes air into her lungs. Romano's pager starts to go off. He checks the message and sighs, "Damn, the police are downstairs. They need to talk to one of us."

Elizabeth says nothing— implying that she does not want to leave.

Not wanting to leave either, he reluctantly agrees, "Okay, I'll be down in the ER if you need me."

After he walks out, Elizabeth sighs and reaches for a stool that sits a few feet away. She pulls it over to her and quietly sits down. She sighs again and looks at her hands, resting in her lap. She looks up at Robin, who is lucky to be alive at this point—living in this nightmarish dream. The extent of the injuries to her back is shocking in itself. Elizabeth knows that the force of the blows should have fractured her vertebrae. She is very fortunate to have just gotten a few broken ribs.

Elizabeth realizes that Robin has been through so much in just six months. She—like all of the others—wonders how Robin will be able to get through this. She could come out of this a totally different person. She could let go of all the genuine qualities that everyone loves about her. She could change so much that no one would recognize her anymore. She could be a mere shadow of who she once was.

Tears roll down her face as she looks at her and imagines everything that might go wrong---growing more faint of heart by the moment.

* * *

**-Part 9-**

**"A Mile With Me"**

A somber air fills the room as Elizabeth now sleeps with her head on the gurney.

As her sedation wears off, Robin's eyes begin to move. She slowly opens them. Though she's sedated still into a semi-stupor, there's an awareness of a tube that fills her mouth and goes down her throat. It feels as thick as a garden hose. It gives her a choking feeling. She can't breathe. A machine breathes for her. There's a horrible sensation of not being able to take a breath; but soon, in these first few moments of consciousness, she learns to trust the machine. She has simply to go with the machine, go with it, not fight it, not try to breathe, because in a moment it will push more air into her lungs.

Gradually, she becomes aware of her connection to things. There's her old friend the monitor. There's the miserable hose in her mouth. And there's the familiar IV.

She tries to move her legs slightly—there's a crushing pain in her right leg.

Her movements are just enough to awaken Elizabeth. She raises her head up and wipes her eyes as she yawns. "You gave us quite a scare," she tells her quietly as a smile stretches across her face.

Robin tries to grin, and barely manages one because of the intubation tube in her mouth.

Elizabeth can tell by her face that she wants her to extubate her. She stands slowly and turns the respirator off, and then detaches the tubing that connects the respirator to the intubation tube. She then peels the tape off of her mouth that keeps the tube from moving.

"You ready?" she asks.

Robin closes her eyes and nods.

She grins and says, "Alright. Take a deep breath, and on the count of three, you know what to do."

She takes a deep breathe.

"One, two, _three_..." As Elizabeth pulls out the tube, she raises her head up slightly. "Alright, there you go," she tells her, soft-spoken, "now _no_ talking, okay?"

Robin coughs and gags—her throat irritated from the time the tube was in. She nods and smiles at Elizabeth as she sits back down.

Elizabeth looks at her, and tears form in her eyes. They fall. She folds her arms onto the gurney, and Robin puts a hand on her arm and comforts her. The only sound in the room is that of the monitor, as the two doctors stay silent and share a peaceful moment.

Later, Robin's gaze falls on the fragile form of Abby—appearing outside of the room.

She peers through the window in the door. She looks on as Robin watches Elizabeth write in her chart. A grin flashes across Abby's face, as she notices that Robin is no longer intubated—and is relieved; but then, she sees the massive bruise on Robin's face, and her heart sinks. She sighs and pushes the door open; entering quietly and ambling towards them.

"I thought you went home," Elizabeth smiles as she turns her head and sees her coming up behind her.

"Well," she confesses, "Susan and I only got as far as the lounge. We just sat and stared at the lockers the whole time."

She looks surprised, "You did that for _two_ _hours_?"

"_I_ did," Abby laughs, "_she_ fell asleep after fifteen minutes. She's still on the couch in the lounge, actually." The three of them laugh silently. Abby glances at Robin, smiling. "You guys mind if I stay?" she asks.

"No," Elizabeth tells her, "go right ahead." She looks at her watch. "God, it's only a little after two! Feels like it should be five by now," and she rises from her seat, letting Abby take it. "Well, I guess I'll be going home, so if you need anything, let me know."

Robin nods her head and smiles.

She grins, then turns and walks out—stopping outside of the door to look back. She sighs and slowly leaves.

Abby sits quietly, looking at her hands; up at Robin; then, back down again. She doesn't know how she should feel—she wants to be strong, yet she wants to cry until she just _can't _anymore.

Wanting to get her attention, Robin pats the bed.

She lifts her gaze, confused, and looks into Robin's sad and kind eyes.

Robin motions for her to talk to her. She knows that she wants to talk, and she doesn't have to make much of an effort to get her to.

Abby chuckles, and then scoots closer to the bed. She rests her elbows on the mattress, rakes her finger through her hair, and puts her arms on the bed with a sigh. She begins, "I was on that ride-along I told you about earlier, and _we_ got the call. When we got there, I knew it was you and went straight to your apartment." She pauses as she relives it in her mind. She looks down at the sheets—her eyes dart around, and she continues, "When I saw you, I thought, since you lost so much blood, that you wouldn't make it. Everything's been moving in slow-motion ever since we got that call. We've all been on the edge of our seats all night." She stops to think about what she will say next, and how to put it into words. "As Susan and I watched your surgery, I couldn't help but think that you were already _gone_. We _all_ felt that way." The candid moment weighs heavily on her heart, and she starts to cry quietly. "Oh, _God_...I'm sorry. It's just that...I thought I'd lost my best friend," she sobs, then looks up at Robin's concerned face.

She grins and puts a hand on Abby's back as she buries her face in her arms and cries. Robin doesn't move, even after Abby has cried herself to sleep. She lays there, wondering what will happen in the days to come—and in the long run.

_A friend loveth at all times. _

Proverbs 17:17

* * *


	4. Chapters 10 through 12

**-Part 10- **

**"Resurfacing"**

Two days later

Walking down the corridor, Luka grins as he spots Susan standing outside of Robin's room. "Hey, are they asking her about what happened?" he asks softly.

Startled, Susan turns her head quickly, "Oh, hey. Yeah, for about ten minutes now."

"Does she remember anything?" he asks.

She answers, shaking her head, "I don't know, maybe. They've been in there for over ten minutes, so she must've remembered _something_."

"Yeah," he points out, "but you know how cops can be. They're relentless."

She nods, "Mm-hmm, ya got _that_ right."

Inside the room, two uniformed officers stand next to the bed. Robin is amused, because they remind her of those old black and white movies where the cops are total opposites: one is tall and skinny, and the other is shorter and "plump". The short cop takes notes from the information that she gives them; the tall cop asks most of the questions.

"Did you recognize the person who did this to you?" the tall one asks.

Robin, sitting up because the head of the bed has been raised, thinks. "I-I'm not sure. I think it might've been one of my patients that I'd seen that day, I don't know," she rubs her head with her left hand—the other arm is too sore to move.

"Okay, well, thanks for helping us out, Dr. Shepherd," the short cop smiles.

Robin sounds very frustrated, "I barely gave you _anything_," she pauses, "but, you're welcome!" As the officers open the door to leave, Robin asks, "Hey, how long are they gonna leave my apartment the way it is? Y'know, with all the blood and stuff?"

"Uh, maybe a couple more days. Why?" the tall cop tells her.

She looks unsure of what she's about to say. "I wanna go by and see what happened," she says, "maybe it might jog my memory or somethin'."

"How long will it be before they'll let you go?" the short cop questions.

She estimates, "A couple more days."

"We'll see what we can do," the tall cop smiles; and with that, they walk out.

Seconds later, Susan knocks lightly on the open door. Robin smiles, and she and Luka come in. They are shocked at the immense bruising on the side of her face from where she was struck.

"Hey, you look better than you did two days ago," he smiles, as they make their way to the bed.

She laughs, considering she couldn't have looked any worse that night.

"You look better than you did _yesterday_," Susan remarks.

"_Wow_," Robin says sarcastically—and sleepily, "at the rate I'm goin', I could sign myself up for the next Miss America pageant in about a _week_!"

They chuckle. Susan sits in the stool next to her and asks her sympathetically, "How ya feeling?"

She laughs dryly, "Alright, considering the fact that I'm going stir crazy from not leaving the room in over three days."

"Well, you start physical therapy today, so you'll finally get outta here," Susan reminds her.

She nods and says, "They better not send some _student_ down here that doesn't know what the hell they're doin'!"

"Now that you say that," laughs Luka, "they'll send someone who doesn't know how to do _anything_!"

"Yeah, I probably just jinxed myself," Robin says as they start to laugh.

Susan, still laughing, asks, "So, have you had anymore visitors today?"

Robin laughs and shakes her head, "_Oh, God, please_ don't remind me!" she pauses as their laughter fades. "Aside from everyone in the ER—who I actually _want_ to see—plus, everyone up here in surgery, it seems like _everybody's_ been in here."

Luka grins, "Getting pretty tired of it, huh?"

"And _then_ some," she answers, sounding very crossed, "I swear, the next person who walks through that door is gonna get a piece of my mind!" She pauses. "Well, maybe not. Y'know, if they're a friend... Anyway," she continues. She starts to talk with her hands, becoming fidgety, "Y'know, they should just ship me over to Psych and put me in a padded room, 'cause I've _obviously_ lost my mind!"

Luka and Susan grin, and she laughs, "You _have_ gone stir crazy!"

He agrees, "Yeah, I have to go with her on this one!"

As Robin giggles, a young man pushing a cart piled with scrubs stops outside the door.

"Here ya go, Dr. Shepherd!" he smiles and tosses a pair of green scrubs to her; then, continues on his way.

Robin shouts, "Yeah, thanks dude!" then looks very confused._ "Who was that," _she asks in a high-pitched tone, _"and how in the hell did he know my name?" _

Suddenly, Luka's pager goes off. Susan's goes off seconds later. They read the number that scrolls across the screen.

"Ah, it's the ER," Susan says, "we gotta go."

"Oh, okay," Robin says, "but could one of you help me over to the bathroom so I can put on my scrubs?"

Luka nods, "Sure."

She has a bit of trouble getting out of bed, but finally does. She puts her arm around his back, and they slowly make their way across the room. She staggers inside and turns around. "What are ya _waitin'_ for?" she asks them, smiling. "Go save some lives. Go be heroes!"

"Alright then," Susan tells her apprehensively, "you gonna be okay?"

Robin nods, "Yeah...I'm in this for the long haul."

"We'll see ya soon," Luka grins.

She watches as they head for the door. "Thank you," she says in a lower tone.

They both smile. Susan waves and Luka winks at her, and they leave.

Robin closes the bathroom door; her face is totally different now—etched with the painfully reality of what she's going through in her troubled mind.

She puts the scrubs on the edge of the sink, carefully leans her back against the tiled wall— wincing from the pain that radiates through her back, and closes her eyes. She lets out a sigh; then, reaches over to grab the pants. She struggles to make her way onto the floor—not wanting to fall into the toilet, which doesn't have the top part of the seat. She has difficulty, since they had to immobilize her upper torso for her broken ribs. Plus, she knows not to put any pressure on her right leg. Even though she has a cast on her leg, she could still do major damage—the surgical screws could somehow shift, making her bone move as well, and causing it to heal incorrectly.

Robin is finally able to sit on the cold floor. She sits, breathing heavily, then bends at her waist to put her left leg through one of the pant legs. After pausing for a moment, she carefully pulls the right pant leg up and over the cast that covers most of her wounded leg. She lays down flat on the floor and closes her eyes. "_Cheese_ and biscuits," she sighs, instead of cursing to nothing in particular.

"Dr. Shepherd," a voice comes from the other side of the door, "are you in there?"

The person startles her, then she replies, "Uh, yeah. Just puttin' on some scrubs."

The young man in the room readies a wheelchair as she finishes, then sits down.

Robin opens the door to see him doing wheelies as he waits.

He rises from the chair smiling, "You ready to go?"

Robin's face lights up,_ "You betcha!" _she says, giving him a corny thumbs-up. She loses all of her enthusiasm and flops down in the chair—annoyed with him already.

"I've heard so much about you," he says, pushing the chair into to the hallway.

"Oh, God," she dreads, "what'd they say?"

The young man laughs, "Nothin' but the best!"

She smiles and chuckles.

"My name's Ryan, by the way."

"You can call me Robin," she tells him. "So, are you a nurse, or a P.A., or what?" she asks, as her voice trails off.

"Nope," Ryan says, "I'm a _student_. Third year!"

Robin giggles, remembering the conversation she had with Luka and Susan, just minutes ago. The more she giggles, the more confused Ryan seems to become.

He smiles, "What's so funny?"

She answers, "Oh, nothin'!"

**-Part 11- **

**"Hello Again" **

The next day

Elizabeth stands at the main desk sorting through a stack of old charts.

Shirley—one of the surgical nurses—sits next to her, looking up information on one of the computers. She notices someone coming up the hallway in a wheelchair and looks up from the screen, "Well, it looks like _somebody's_ up and about!"

Dr. Corday looks up at Shirley, then, over to see Robin coming toward them. All three smile, and Robin holds the wheel rails—slowly coming to a stop. "Feeling better?" Elizabeth asks.

"Uh, yeah," Robin says, taking in some air, "_physically_!"

Elizabeth grins slightly, but becomes concerned, "And mentally?"

She contemplates momentarily. "Mentally? I haven't felt this bad since, uh...yeah, _never_!" she says, nodding her head. "So, I think I'll _mosey_ on downstairs, grace them all with my joyous and _delightful_ presence, and _lower _their self-esteem—_thanks_, in part, to the _overwhelming_ angst and unfortunate dismay that has _once again **consumed**_ my miserable existence! **_So_**," she rambles on as she waits for an elevator, "I'm sure that I've _brightened_ your day enough _already_. I will _see_ you later," she boards the elevator after the door opens and pushes the button that will take her to the ER, "have a _marvelous_ afternoon, don't **_kill_ **anyone while I'm gone, and _all that jazz_!" the door closes.

They stare at the elevator—confused and dumbfounded at Robin's surly tone of voice. She has never sounded like this before.

"Robin needs help," Elizabeth sighs.

Shirley tells her, "She almost sounds like Romano on a rampage!"

Elizabeth mutters, "That's what scares me."

Robin pushes herself out of the elevator and over to the doorway to the main hall. She turns right and pushes herself toward the admit desk.

Frank comes toward her and exclaims, "_Hey_, Dr. Shepherd! You feelin' any better?"

She looks at him with an unenthusiastic, hostile gaze, "Don't ask."

"Look who's decided to join us," Pratt smiles.

As she stops at the desk, Robin waves.

Gallant, Neela, Susan, and Sam grin seeing her. "How are ya?" Sam asks.

"I've slipped into the seventh circle of **_hell_**! _Thank_ you!" she comments in a grouchy tone. "I am _now_ the female embodiment of PMS!"

They all pay particular attention to her unusually irritable behavior. They all remember dreading to see if she would change. They fear that she will remain this way if they don't intervene somehow.

"Must suck bein' you, huh?" Pratt comments with a grin.

Robin looks at him quickly, "What the _hell_ kinda question's _that_?"

He realizes that he's upset her and looks guilty, not saying anything.

Robin starts laughing a little bit to hard, _"Just kiddin'!" _and ends it with an enthusiastic, _"Woo!"_

Everyone's not quite sure about her overly-happy behavior, and they show it with their nervous silence.

"How's the pain been so far?" Neela wonders, breaking the nerve-racking moment.

"_It blows! _I've been in _pain _for over _three_ days now. I've gotta put my foot down on this one—I said that I wasn't gonna take painkillers, but _dammit_, I need somethin' to take the edge off," she confesses, "I'm tired of bein' strong."

Susan nods, "Okay, Sam, give her ten of morphine." Sam goes to get the medication from the drug lock-up, and Susan questions, "Does your leg hurt, your head, what?"

"My head, my back, my side, my leg," she tells her—seeming very impatient, "_everything_! It hurts like a son of a _bitch_!"

Sam jogs back with a syringe.

Robin stands in agony.

"I was gonna give you the shot in your arm," she says.

"Well, my back's the only place where I don't give myself insulin," she explains.

Sam nods, "It'll hurt more because of the bruises on your back."

Robin shakes her head, "I don't care."

Giving in, Sam has her hold the back of her scrub top up, as she takes an alcohol swab and cleans a small area. Seconds later, her eyes widen and she winces as she puts the syringe needle in her back. "Sweet _mother_ a-crap!" she says—her voice shaking, not expecting it to be so painful. The faces Robin makes amuse the others.

Frank comes back to the desk as Sam finishes and takes the needle out of her back.

"Thank you, Sam," she grins.

Sam pats her on the arm, "You're welcome."

"Oh, you're nice to _her_." Frank scoffs.

_"She's got the drugs!" _Robin snaps back quickly. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She lets out a laugh, seeing as everyone else—except Frank—is amused by her irritability. She slowly sits down again in the wheelchair, sighing and hanging her head back with her eyes closed.

Susan's expression changes to that of deep concern. "Rob," she asks, "where are you gonna stay after they let you go?"

She looks confused, "I haven't really though about it yet."

"You know you can always stay with me," she suggests, "or I'm sure Abby would love the company. Just something to think about."

Robin grins, "Thanks, Susan," she says in a low tone. After a second, she starts to stare at the floor tiles.

"Seems like those pain meds are kickin' in," Pratt smiles.

She grins, "Yes _indeedy_, they _are_!"

Jerry appears, walking toward the security doors. "Hey, Robin! I was just goin' to get somethin' from the Roach Coach, you want anything?"

She answers, "No thanks, Jerry." As he turns to leave, she jokes, "Be careful, man, it's rainin' cats and dogs out there—don't step in a _poodle_!" and starts laughing. "**_Woo_**, boy," she says—sounding very Southern—as her goofy laughter dies down. She pauses, then puts her hands on the wheels. "Well, I think I'm gonna go on back," she continues. Everybody says their good-byes, then she takes off—looking back and saying, "Tell everyone I said 'hey'!"

"You got it," Gallant shouts down the hallway. They watch her disappear around the corner at Curtain 3, overtaken by their questions. They remain silent.

"The anger," Neela finally asks, "do you think it's just a phase?"

Susan shakes her head, "I don't know. Something tells me that this is the calm before the storm, y'know?" She pauses and sighs, "It's gonna get ugly."

_My dreams are spoiled my circumstance, _

_ My plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck; _

_Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance, _

_ But that great hour has never struck; _

_My progress has been slow and hard, _

_ I've had to climb and crawl and swim, _

_Fighting for every stubborn yard; _

_ But I have kept in fighting trim. _

_I have to fight my doubts away _

_ And be on guard against my fears; _

_The feeble croaking of Dismay _

_ Has been familiar through the years; _

_My darkest plans keep going wrong, _

_ Events combine to thwart my will; _

_But fighting keeps my spirit strong, _

_ And I am undefeated still! _

S.E. Kiser – "The Fighter"

**-Part 12- **

**"Wandering Away" **

Hours later, that night

The perpetual sound of gears and wheels creaking, and the almost undetectable electrical hum rings in her head. Robin sits in the wheelchair, searching for a reason—a reason for her misfortune and the endless parade of setbacks that torment her heart and mind; a reason why she has to keep putting herself, her family, and her friends through all of this—keeping them in the dark.

She stares blankly at the buttons on the wall as a deluge of questions and wonders streams through her mind. She has doubts about going and forcing herself to try and remember, but in her mind she has no other choice—she's sick of herself and her anxieties. A great melancholy descends on her.

_"You can hear me..."_

The distorted voice she's been hearing for months returns. In amongst the misery she is putting herself through, she hears the faint sounds of someone else's voice.

"Robin? _Robin?_"

She glances over suddenly, seeing the elevator door being held open by Malik. "You gettin' off, or just goin' for a ride?" he asks, grinning slightly.

"Oh, hey," Robin says dimly, "I'm gettin' off, yeah. Sorry." and gets control of her chair and pushes herself out.

Malik enters the elevator with his patient—in a wheelchair as well—with a look of confusion and bewilderment on his face. "No prob," he mutters.

Dr. Shepherd searches for something as she makes her way through the halls, scheming. She passes the drug lock-up and the trauma rooms. She then comes upon the suture room and enters—trying to be somewhat discreet. She can clearly see everything, even though the lights are not on. The bright lights from Trauma 2 illuminate the room. She looks for something in particular; then, finds what she is looking for—leaning against the wall next to the gurney in the center of the room: a pair of crutches. She grabs them and stands slowly, showing pain as she finally gets out of the chair completely. Seeing that they are too short, she leans her back against the wall—causing more pain—and starts adjusting the length to suit her height.

In the midst of Robin's secret work, Susan spots her and walks in.

Robin looks up to see her looking quite suspicious.

"Rob, what are you doing?" she asks, baffled but not angry.

"I need these," she tells her—the impatience in her voice is obvious.

Susan leans against the counter, "Why?"

"There's something I have to do," Robin says, looking back down at the crutches and finishing the job. She leans the crutches against the bed, grabs her coat—which she has been hiding by sitting on it in the chair—and puts it on.

Susan notices that she has shoes on now, and wonders where she could be going. She then remembers hearing the conversation Robin had with the officers earlier in the day. "You're going home, aren't you?"

Robin, putting the crutches under her arms, confesses, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I have my ways," she grins slightly.

Robin makes her way to the door and opens it—with a little trouble.

Susan walks after her. "You don't need to go," she tries to talk her out of it, "the cops can bring pictures of the patients _to_ you!"

"That's not enough," Robin tells her as they walk past Curtains 1 and 2, "I have to know what happened to me." They pass the admit desk. Then, one of the handles on the crutches snaps—rendering it useless._ "Dammit!" _Robin shouts suddenly, then hands the broken crutch to Susan.

"Wait, let me get you another one," she says, but Robin keeps walking.

_"Screw it," _she says, reaching the ambulance bay doors, "I only need one anyway!"

Susan stands, holding the broken crutch; then, turns and moves behind the desk. She rests her elbow on the desk and puts her face in her hand.

"What was that all about?" Luka asks, going over his charts.

Susan explains, "Remember what she told the cops this morning?"

He nods, "That she wanted to go to her place to see if she could remember anything," looking very troubled about her decision.

"Yeah," she sighs. They don't speak for a moment, then she breaks the silence, "It makes me wonder how this'll all end, y'know?"

Luka sounds disturbed as he stares out the ambulance bay doors, "Yeah," he pauses. "I know."

_Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly._

Psalm 31:9


	5. Chapters 13 through 15

**-Part 13- **

**"Battleground"**

Robin enters the lobby of her apartment building, and looks around at the large, empty vestibule. She sighs and shakes from the cold air outside, and then finally ambles over to the stairs. Stopping at the foot of the staircase, she looks up at the flights that wind to the roof. She grabs the handrail and begins the daunting task, which ends at the fifth floor—the place of her deadly encounter. Pain radiates through her body with a fierceness, but she can't stop now. The crutch offers her a little assistance and relief, but it does make climbing the stairs quite an obstacle.

Robin's mind slows as she reaches her floor, moving around the corner and down the hall toward her apartment. Her eyes dart around to each door she passes—moving sleepily from place to place. She limps closer to the end of the hall. Her heart beats uncontrollably—as if it were about to burst out of her chest at any second.

A tall, black police officer strolls out of the open door to her apartment as she nears. "You must be Dr. Shepherd," he smiles.

"I actually wish that I _wasn't_ at this point in my life," she jokes, "but, _yes_. Yes, I am."

The cop laughs and introduces himself, "I'm Officer Marcom. I realize that you didn't want us to clean the place until you were able to come, but we had to follow protocol."

Robin nods and looks at the door frame.

"The good news is—we know exactly what happened and where. So, I can show you that if you like," he suggests.

"Sure, that'd be great," she grins weakly.

The officer walks in, but she can't move—frozen with a deathlike fear and dread. She wishes that Abby or Susan, or anyone for that matter, was here to support her. But she is alone.

Marcom stands waiting for her to enter. She finally appears in the doorway and walks in. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asks.

Robin shakes her head nervously.

"Alright, before I go any further," he starts and pulls three photographs from his pocket, "we've narrowed the suspects down to these three woman. All three were patients you treated the other day," and he hands the photos to her. He explains, "Okay, there was a present laying here on the end table that had been opened—it didn't say who it was from or anything..." He still talks as Robin finally looks at the photos.

She racks her brain, trying to remember the women's faces—going over every detail. First woman, no. Second woman, no. Third woman...

Her eyes stare stonily into the crazed eyes of the patient that had almost killed her in the space where she stands—an icy fear runs through her and beads of sweat trickle down her forehead. There's a wild fear in her eyes.

"This is her," she says, almost involuntarily, "this is the one." She holds out her arm as Marcom stops talking and walks over to her.

He scans the picture for a second, then looks at her, "Alright, thanks. We'll go and pick her up right now."

Robin nods while she takes everything in—gazing at the entire room. Marcom slips out of the apartment as she closes her eyes, remembering everything that had happened. She can clearly see everything, as she had seen it that night. She can hear the sound of the metal rod breaking her bones; then, silence.

She, in a way, is standing on her own grave—a troubled resting place. Another part of her has died—there is only so much of herself that is left.

As she descends deeper into the chasm of depression, she opens her eyes and slowly limps out of the apartment. She moves toward the stairs down the hallway in a daze—her hazel eyes filled with fear and blankness. Uncertainty. Her recollections have drained her of all feeling. She stares at the floor a few feet in front of her—empty.

The ambulance bay doors slide open as Robin returns, empty-eyed. Without a word, she heads for the lounge.

Everyone at the desk is hushed.

Susan drops her chart she is examining and steps back.

They watch her silently make her way to the lounge. Wanting to do more for Robin, but not sure how, they return to work—heartbroken.

Stepping into the darkness of the room, Susan peers around. She sees her slumped in the leather couch—the crutch leaning against the wall. She stares blankly at the lockers across from her. Susan takes a seat on the coffee table in front of her; leans forward, putting her elbows on her legs, and looks into Robin's eyes.

Robin's eyes become blurry as they fill with tears. She puts a hand on her face and closes her eyes. She leans forward and shields her face with both hands.

Susan can tell that she is crying, even through the cover of her hands. She puts a hand on Robin's arm; then, Robin slumps forward, sobbing, onto Susan's knees.

Susan puts her arm around her shoulders, then rests her other hand on the back of Robin's head—trying to lessen her grief. As she weeps, Susan realizes that Robin could be even more depressed than she seems; an undying hopelessness has all but consumed her. She assumes the worst might happen if she is left alone—for enough time to pass so that she could harm herself. She tries to clear her mind of the vivid, nightmarish thoughts, as she listens to Robin cry quietly in the dark.

**-Part 14- **

**"Winds of Fate"**

November 20, one month later

Romano yells and belittles some of the staff, as he does regularly.

Dr. Shepherd stands at the elevators waiting for a ride, and she peers into Trauma 1 and watches him ramble on about transporting a patient by helicopter, which he is obviously against doing. The elevator doors slide open. As she rolls her eyes and steps in, she scoffs, "What a _jackass_." She laughs to herself, and the doors close.

Minutes later, Robin leans against the ledge on the roof, taking everything in around her. She stands in the warm sunshine, but is still chilled by the wind that blows—often in gusts. Her leg is evidently improving; she has no assistance of the crutch now. For the past week or so, she has been calling the lounge home—or any free beds she can find between shifts. Kerry will only allow her to do chart reviews and other paperwork that needs to be done—no trauma. Weaver does not think that Robin is physically or mentally stable enough to handle a stressful situation like that—and she is absolutely right.

Sounds of helicopter blades slicing the air echo into the ambulance bay and onto the street. Robin glances over at the helipada couple hundred feet away. She then resumes watching the people bustling in and out of the hospital, with a hint of a grin on her face. One person draws her attention—Dr. Romano. He jogs out into the middle of the bay panicking and breathing heavily. After he rests a moment, he hurries over to one of the med students, Morris, who is trying to discreetly smoke a joint.

The sun slowly disappears behind dark clouds. Robin looks up to the sky with a start to see no clouds at all, but the helicopter hovering about 40 feet off of the roof. The wind picks up suddenly, making it wobble in an awkward fashion. It begins to descend toward the roof rapidly. She stands, unable to comprehend what is happening. She stands petrified, as all hell breaks loose on this day of change. The blaring sun comes back into view and it blinds her for a moment. She rubs her eyes quickly, then opens them as the helicopter crashes down—breaking the landing gear. The propeller blades snap in two as the body starts to lean on its side. Metal and glass fly everywhere as it begins to spin—the sound of the metal being torn by the cement is earsplitting and painful, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Robin looks down into the ambulance bay to see Romano silently standing out in the sunshine again, unaware of what is going on. Robin looks back to the helicopter once again, spinning still. It rolls on its side; then, the tail strikes the ledge—the back propeller damaged now, also. She looks down to see Romano eyeing the fallen rubble strangely.

He walks over to investigate after the bricks cease to fall.

She shouts his name; then again. She cannot even hear her voice though, because of the noise that seems to only be contained to the roof and the blue sky above.

Romano hears nothing.

Suddenly, Robin watches the damaged helicopter slide over the edge of the roof. The commotion and noise become a loud silence, which is even more deafening to hear. The burning metal of the chopper free falls into the ambulance bay. The people finally see what is about to occur, and run screaming into the hospital, out into the street, behind vehicles, or anywhere they can find to escape the impending catastrophe.

**_"DR. ROMANO!!" _**she cries in a voice that does not sound like her own.

He looks up to see her leaning over the ledge—her eyes wide with concern and alarm. Before he can react to her, he glances above him to see the helicopter only feet above him. He cries out.

Robin watches in horror as the burning helicopter crashes onto the ground—exploding and sending twisted metal careening into vehicles, windows, anything nearby. Pitch black smoke billows toward the sky. Again, an empty silence drowns everything else.

Obviously shaken by everything she has just witnessed, Robin backs away from the ledge, in denial. Her expressionless visage is chilling—dispirited. She backs into the door that leads to the stairway. Unfazed, she keeps her back on the door, seeing her breath in the cold air. She pushes herself off of the door and opens it. Before she steps into the stairway, she looks at the helipad once more, cluttered with debris; then, the crumbling ledge and the black smoke. She shuts her hard eyes and closes the door behind her.

_My heart is sore pained within me: and the terrors of death are fallen upon me. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. _

Psalm 55:4 &5

**-Part 15- **

**"The Hereafter"**

Chaos and pandemonium flood the ER—which is now a virtual whirlpool—as people stumble up and down the stairs. Robin walks down the last flight of stairs, people running into her or hitting shoulders. Her mind barely registers anything, her eyes are lost, and she ambles as a zombie would—shell-shocked. She reaches the bottom, stopping to glance around. Doctors and nurses scramble through the halls; patients cry and panic; victims are brought in on stretchers with burns or debris lodged in their bodies. Robin begins to walk again, through the crowd of the walking wounded.

Outside, Susan is trying to help a woman who has been injured. She looks over her shoulder and sees Robin moving through everyone. But her demeanor is horrifying. Her face is slate and her eyes do not blink. Susan watches with urgency.

Robin walks straight toward the wreckage.

"Don't come any closer, doctor," a cop says, stepping in her way. She keeps going, and the officer has to hold her back, "I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't go in there! It's a restricted area!"

"You have to move the helicopter," she says blankly, "you've gotta move it."

The cop tells her, "We need a crane, it could be a few hours."

Robin's brows buckle and her voice is stern—she knows she's being hardheaded, but still, she keeps pushing him, "We don't _have_ a few hours, you have to move it _now_—w-would you _let_ me go?!" she stutters and almost cuts herself off._ "Freakin' jag-off!" _she insults. As she shoves the officer slightly, Susan walks up to them.

"Rob, what's goin' on?" she questions.

She looks over at quickly at the doomed helicopter, puts her hands on her hips, and sighs. She closes her eyes, picturing Robert's body being found—singed and crushed, beyond recognition. Her face becomes that of solid stone once more, realizing that no human being could survive an impact like that—let alone the explosion. She stares vengefully at the officer. "You're gonna regret not movin' that chopper," she says, her voice unchanging.

The cop wanders off, fet up with her attitude.

Susan decides to change the subject—somewhat, "Where have _you _been?"

Robin stares at the burning piece of metal on the ground about ten feet in front of them and mutters, "The roof."

Susan nods; but then, she realizes. "Oh, my God. You saw what happened."

Her eyes slide over to meet Susan's, but Robin says nothing.

"Oh, God," Susan whispers, and puts her arm around Robin's shoulders, "let's get you inside." Susan knows that things have gone from bad to worse for her.

The two friends walk back in. Robin looks at the carnage in the ambulance bay, as they make their way through the injured.

_He always has something to grumble about, _

_ Has the man with the chip on his shoulder; _

_The world to the dogs is going, no doubt, _

_ To the man with a chip on his shoulder; _

_The clouds are too dark, the sun is too bright. _

_No matter what happens, he is spoiling the fight, _

_ The man with a chip on his shoulder. _

Unknown – "A Chip on His Shoulder"

* * *

**_Let me know what you think...PLEASE!!!! I'd really love feedback! More to come!!_**

* * *


	6. Chapters 16 through 18

**-Part 16- **

**"After the Fall"**

Two hours later

The tension within the hospital has somewhat diminished, but something still hangs in the air—personal; heft but unspoken. The staff members painstakingly try to calm themselves, but with little success.

"Where's Robin at?" Jerry asks, "We're getting buried down here!"

Susan leans back against the desk with her arms crossed, "She's in the lounge." Her voice is dreary.

Pratt enters the conversation, "Tell her to get her ass _out _here and help us, then."

She takes a deep breath and mutters, "No, she saw what happened—she was on the roof and saw everything. She's still in shock, and I _know_ she won't talk to anybody from Psych."

Everyone there becomes quiet, uneasy. A long silence engulfs the admit area.

"There's something she's not telling us," Susan's voice goes soft.

_For my life is spent with grief, and my years with sighing: my strength failith because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed. _

Psalm 31:10

The lounge is dim. Secluded, Robin sits lifelessly on the leather sofa—her head turned the microwave, watching the seconds go by on its digital clock. She's beginning to disappear into herself once again. Thoughts fill her mind: her ailment, the assault, the accident just hours ago, watching Dr. Romano's death with her own eyes. The very thing that had changed his life and his career forever, is now the reason for his life being taken away. Only she knows, but she isn't ready to let the others—churning up a secret nervousness inside her.

_"Remember, Robin..."_

She dwells on the misfortune that has plagued her for over eight months. Somehow she has defied every conflict that life has handed her, but she feels deprived of something. There always seems to be an insurmountable obstacle in her way—keeping her from being happy again.

_"Remember..."_

Abby enters quietly, and Robin still stares catatonic at the clock on the microwave. Abby stands beside her, then sits on the couch next to her. She watches her; there's an almost eerie sense of remoteness in her eyes, a look that Robin has retreated deep inside herself to a different place, a different time, far from the cold, sterile room where she's trapped.

Robin's concentration is broken, and she glances over. She manages a slight grin, briefly breaking her inwardness.

Abby does the same. "Susan told us," Abby says softly—not wanting to bring up the issue, but knowing she has to.

Robin nods, knowing exactly what she is referring to. She stares at the coffee table in front of her.

Knowing Robin does not want to talk about the ordeal, Abby hesitates. "I haven't had anything to eat yet, so let's get away from all this and get a burger at Ike's," she suggests.

Robin barely nods.

"I guess that's a _'yes'_, then," Abby grins. She sits and watches for a reaction, but gets nothing. Her grin shrinks, feeling as though this is a one-sided conversation—which it is. "_Say_ something." Again, she gets nothing; then she rises and walks to the door. She looks over at her before leaving, cautious of her unusual, reclusive behavior. Then, she looks down and walks out.

Robin continues to stare blankly at the table, again, as a zombie would. This is a world in which she does not live, but vegetates. She sits quietly, thinking of the loss—of Romano and _herself._

**

* * *

**

**-Part 17-**

**"Borderline"**

_ I live in the weak and the wounded. _

Minutes later, Robin emerges from the lounge with her black winter coat folded over her arm.

Jerry, Gallant, and Morris mope around the desk amid the paperwork that remains unfinished. Gallant and Jerry shuffle around, transferring charts and folders. Morris does nothing to help out whatsoever.

"Hey, Rob," Gallant says cheerfully, "come out to help us?"

Robin looks at some of the papers scattered around, "Nope." She starts reading a chart, then notices that Morris is not doing anything. She rolls her eyes and reads on. "Morris," she asks, "care to make yourself _useful _and help with the work?"

"Can't!" he says, playing with his tie.

Robin questions, "And why is that?"

He sounds angered, "Dr. Romano told me not to do anything until he came to talk to me."

Her eyes dart over when she hears Robert's name.

"Where _is _Dr. Romano anyway?" Jerry asks.

Robin takes a deep breath, but cannot read the chart anymore. As she thinks about the accident, letters fade away while others bend and wiggle on the paper—her mind is twisted. She closes her eyes tightly and pinches the bridge of her nose. "He must be really busy," she replies blankly.

Morris stands up to stretch and continues the conversation, "Frankly, he needs an attitude adjustment!" He pauses as he gets angry, "I should take his arm and shove it right up his ass!"

Robin looks at him with a vexed glare—outraged with his demeaning words.

"One of these days, he'll get what's comin' to him. When he does, I won't even be at his funeral."

"Who would want you there in the first place?" she says harshly.

Morris rolls his eyes and starts, "I just hope he burns in hell!"

_"Do it, Robin."_

Robin snaps—feeling her heart pound with dangerous rage—tossing the chart on the desk, grabbing Morris's lab coat while she pushes him into the side of the wall next to the desk. "You son of a **_bitch_**!" she says, punching him in the face. There's something slaughterous in her.

Gallant rushes over and grabs her arm.

"GET **_OFF_** ME, GALLANT!" she shouts, pushing him away erratically.

He backs off as Susan walks over from Curtain 1, "What's goin' on?"

Robin catches Morris as he tries to duck and run. She grabs his tie, strangling him, and punches him on the other side of his face. He falls to the floor; then, she kneels beside him, grabs his coat again— lifting him off of the floor—and talks to him in a voice that shakes, as she tries to keep herself from screaming:

_"You are one of the most pathetic excuses for a resident I have **ever **seen. You're arrogant as hell; you have **no** idea about what you're doing, and you have absolutely no respect whatsoever for you co-workers, the patients, or their families! You're not fit to even **be** a doctor. Take it back, or if you don't, I will make your life a livin' hell." _

Morris stares at her, frightened. "Take _what_ b-back," he stammers.

"Everything you said about Romano," Robin scorns, physically shaking him.

He can't speak. ****

****

**_"Say it!"_**she screams, breathing fire now, exhaling smoke, _"Take it back!" _as she shoves his head and shoulders back onto the floor—making him hit the back of his head—then, raising him up again.

Gallant, Susan, and Abby—who has jogged out of Trauma 1, wondering what the commotion was—decide to restrain her. Abby kneels down beside her and grabs her wrists, as she continues to jostle and shake him. "Stop it!" Abby commands, "Robin! **_STOP IT_!!"**

"Take it back, Morris!" Robin shouts as she stops moving him around.

"_Alright!_ Alright," he gives in, "I'm sorry for what I said—about Romano!"

For once, there is silence. She stares at him, her eyes ablaze with vengeance—shaking with anger.

"Let him go," Abby says softly, "Rob, look at me."

Her vacant eyes slide up to meet hers.

"Let him go." Abby's eyes are filled with concern.

Looking at his bloody face, Robin lets Morris go.

Abby lets go of her wrists.

Robin kneels with Abby in silence; then, they both stand.

Morris makes it to his feet, trying to stop his nosebleed.

Coop emerges from around the drug lock-up. "Wow, you miss a lot down here when you just take a patient upstairs!" he says—bubbly as usual. Morris turns around to face him, and he smiles, "Man, what happened to _you_?"

"Robin happened to him," Susan says, "that's what."

Coop laughs and says, "Morris, man, ya gotta watch out when it's 'that time of the month'!"

Robin starts to go after Coop, but Gallant and Susan grab her arms and hold her back.

He steps back quickly, as does Morris, in fear.

She begins to thrash around while Gallant and Susan struggle to hold her. She screams at Coop, "You just wait until it's _your _turn, you son of a bitch!" She screams through clinched teeth, lunging at the two young students—her eyes afire with fury once again.

"**_Go_**, get outta here," Susan tells them, "the longer you stand there, the pissier she's gonna get!"

They both walk off swiftly toward the suture room.

Abby steps in front of Robin as she calms down, and Susan and Gallant let her go.

"What are we gonna do with you?" Susan asks, with a bleak smile.

Abby agrees, "Yeah, I didn't know whether to call Psych or get a priest in here to do an exorcism," and she pauses. "I mean, I thought you were gonna puke on us, and then make your head do a 360."

"Plus, you have been freakishly strong lately," Susan grin and adds.

Robin's eyebrows bend up as she nods and agrees with them.

"Alright," Abby smiles slightly, "let's go get a burger."

Robin nods. "Yeah—yeah, okay," she sighs.

Abby walks behind the desk, getting their coats, as Susan stands with Robin. "Let's go," Abby tells her, handing her coat to her. They turn the corner—avoiding the ambulance bay exit. The large crowd of patients and staff members—eying her with suspicion—return to their routines, wondering about what has just happened. The intensity of anger that hovers here is frightening.

Susan sighs and goes back to her patient—reluctantly. "Sorry 'bout that," she says smiling.

"She's a friend of yours I take it?" the man asks.

Susan smiles, "Yeah, one of the best and closest friends I've ever had."

"What's wrong with her?" the man asks. "Is she always like this?"

Her voice goes soft, "No, I've never seen her like this before. She's had a rough eight months, and we can't figure out what's wrong. I'm scared that..." she pauses. "I'm _scared_."

The man questions, "Of what?"

She closes her eyes, "That she'll get to the point to where she feels like she...can't go on anymore." She pauses again. _"Living." _She opens her eyes and begins writing on his chart. Susan puts it down, smiles weakly and says, "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Susan walks into the drug lock-up, visibly shaken. Her voice shakes as she sighs; and as she puts a hand to her eyes, her hand trembles. She paces, then, leans against the wall—putting her head on the wall and looking up to the ceiling. Robin's just experienced a touch of insanity—she's basically a time bomb—and Susan doesn't know what to do. Robin's loss of innocence has driven her mad. Tears fall as she sighs and bows her head—closing her eyes and silently breaking down. There is a siren that wails inside her that she can't keep ignoring: she must do something now, before her friend finally silences her call for help with her own hand.

**

* * *

**

**-Part 18-**

**"A Path That Leads to Nowhere"**

"Where's Dr. Weaver?" Susan questions a woman standing in the hallway, going though important files.

"Oh, she's in her office," she smiles. Susan walks away, "Thanks."

She approaches the door with Kerry's name on the glass, then stops before she knocks. She's torn. She wonders if Robin will feel betrayed by her—for turning to someone else, instead of coming to her first. But Susan has no other choice—she is not sure about what else she should do. She has to make someone aware of the nature of things—fearing it may lead to disaster if she doesn't.. She closes her eyes and knocks on the glass, stepping back.

Kerry's footsteps move toward the door; and as she opens the door, she is surprised to see Susan.

"Susan, hi," she smiles, "come on in." She lets her in and closes the door behind her. As Susan sits down in one of the chairs in front of her desk, Kerry walks back to her leather seat—not noticing Susan's worried expression. "So, what's up?" she asks.

She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses. "I've got a patient," she begins, "and she's been having a really hard time for about seven or eight months, and now she's becoming violent."

"Does she have a therapist or a psychiatrist?" Kerry inquires.

Susan nods, "Yeah, but I don't know how long it's been since the last time she saw either one of them—weeks, probably."

"Is she on medication?" Kerry asks.

"Yeah," Susan answers, "uh...Lexapro, Buspar, and Risperdal... I'm thinking we can confront her and try to persuade her to talk to someone _tonight_, but I'm pretty sure she won't want to."

"Wait," Kerry says, confused, "she's _your_ patient, I have no part in this—"

"No, we **_all_** have a part in this," Susan interrupts her—her voice is stern.

Kerry looks at Susan—bewildered. "What do you mean?" she questions. "What are you not telling me?" She sees the hurt in Susan's eyes and speaks quietly.

Looking at her hands, Susan sighs and says dreadfully, "I lied, it's not a patient." She pauses. "It's Robin."

Kerry's eyes widen. She sinks back in her chair—rubbing her head, but leans forward again. "You said she's _violent_?"

She explains, "Yeah, she punched Morris twice and had him on the floor, screaming at him and shaking him. She shook him so hard that he hit his head on the floor! When Gallant and I were trying to restrain her, we could hardly keep her from getting away. She was thrashing around, combative, _screaming_ through her teeth—she didn't sound like herself, and she was so...**_strong_**, Kerry! I've never seen her do this—lashing out and being able to beat the living daylights outta somebody. She's come close to losing her cool before, but this time was different... Each time we see her, she seems different in subtle ways: more drawn in the face, staring at the floor more than she did before, and her shoulders seem to slouch more and more... Sometimes we'll find her in weird places: ...sitting by herself in a dark room staring at the wall, or sitting in a corner in the hallway... Just yesterday, I found her in the lounge, sitting on the floor with her back against the fridge, with the door wide open; she was just starin' out into space...like she was listening to something..."

"You think she's hearing voices?" Kerry asks.

"I don't know," Susan sighs. "When she does that, we _do_ have to get her attention...and it's like she doesn't even know that we're _there_—she's so intent on listening to whatever it is she's listening to... It's like she's a whole different person now... Sometimes it feels like she's looking right through us... We hate to nag about it, because it doesn't do her any good, it's like she doesn't care anymore... She's outta control...I can see it in her eyes."

Amazed at her account of the incident, Kerry sits without a word—her mind is boggled. "Oh, God. I know her personality, but you and Abby know her better than anyone... So, what are you thinking?"

"I don't know," Susan shakes her head, "she's got symptoms of quite a few mental disorders. She's taking the medication for her depression, but I'm thinking that it's turned into something more complex: a panic disorder; posttraumatic stress disorder; manic-depression; borderline personality; passive-aggressive personality; depersonalization disorder..." her voice trails off.

"You said she's taking Risperdal? Why is she taking an antipsychotic?" Kerry asks.

"She has a few schizophrenic tendencies," Susan tells her. "The paranoia...the voices..." She pauses. "She's suicidal, Kerry."

"Has she mentioned any of this to anybody?"

"No, not this time...but I just know..."

Kerry's eyes dart around the room, unaware of the depths of her friend's depression. "I'm gonna call Psych and see what they think," she tells her, and reaches for the phone. She sighs and dials the number:

"This is Dr. Kerry Weaver. I need to speak with Dr. DeRaad, please... Well, _get_ him to the phone... No, you don't understand, this is an emergency. A colleague of mine attacked a resident down in the ER this afternoon. It's obvious to us that she's mentally unstable and **_has_** been for around eight months. I need to speak to him right away... Alright, thank you," she says and hangs up. "He'll be here in a minute," she informs Susan. "Do you think we need to schedule a disciplinary hearing?"

"No," Susan says quickly. "That'll just make things worse." Silence fills the room, then she says in a flat tone, "This is the first time I've been scared in a long time. To me, the chopper crash doesn't even compare to this." She pauses. "_God_, I'm so scared," she whispers.

_...There is a time to keep silence and a time to speak. _

Ecclesiastes

* * *


	7. Chapters 19 through 21

**-Part 19- **

**"In Near Ruin"**

_Hope now—nor health, nor cheerfulness, _

_Since they can come and go again, _

_As often one brief hour witnesses— _

_ Just hope has gone forever. _

Edward Thomas

Ike's hums with activity as Abby and Robin walk in. The dim lights give it a warm, homey feel. They spot a table in the middle of the floor and take their coats off, hanging them on the back of their chairs. They finally sit down—still and without words.

Robin shrinks back in her chair with her hands in her lap, staring at the Sweet-n-Low sugar packets—she feels bent and broken.

Abby leans forward with her elbows on the table, looking at a lone man sitting at the bar.

"I need a beer," she says and looks over at Robin.

She moves her eyes over to Abby's and says without a smile, "That's not funny."

She grins, "Sorry." Her voice is soft.

A waitress walks up with two glasses of ice water. "Tell me when you're ready to order, okay?"

Abby smiles, "We will, thank you." As she leaves, she looks over at Robin. She turns her chair toward her, "Talk to me."

Robin sits silently, introspected—looking into her own feelings. She talks in a soft-spoken manner: "I've worked at that hospital for over eleven years. I love my job... But if I keep living my life this way...it's gonna kill me. The next time something like this happens, I may not make it through."

Her words make Abby shudder, as she pictures finding her dead and losing her in the trauma room.

She begins again: "I've lost sight of who I am, Abby... I question myself constantly... What am I supposed to be? What am I good for? Who do I benefit...? A big part of me died that day in March, and another big part of me died a month ago in that _very_ apartment. There's nothin' left of me inside. It's like I walk in a dream... I don't know how much longer I can keep _doin'_ this... It's worn me down to nothin'." She pauses, then adds, "I'm a shadow of my former self, so to speak." She flashes a small grin, picks up her water, and gazes at the bottom of the glass as she drinks. She puts the glass down and says in a matter-of-fact tone, "But, what else is new?"

"You don't have any hope left, do you?" Abby asks.

Robin's dull eyes say everything. "No..." she says brokenly. "There's no hope left in me... As long as I'm sick, nothin' good's ever gonna happen."

"Sick? You're not sick."

"Of _course_ I am," she says quickly. Her low tone slows as she emphasizes her words. "I have a _chronic_ disease—an _incurable_ disease that controls _every_ minute of my day... I'm _sick_. And unless somethin' happens...nothin' good's ever gonna happen to me."

"Like a cure?" Abby asks.

"Yeah..." she answers, "or the other alternative..." Her eyes slide over to meet Abby's, "I can't go on like this anymore... You all don't deserve to have to put up with me... I'm always in the way—"

"No, you're _not_... You're _not_ in the way," Abby says and pleads with her eyes.

Robin doesn't raise her voice, but she puts her foot down, emphasizing her point, "I'll _be_ in the _way_..." After a moment, she continues hollowly, "You need to get on with your lives... Be happy...you don't need me for that... It's time for this to stop..."

Abby freezes and stares into her eyes, holding her gaze for a while.

"It's time to end this... It's too much for me... I can't do this anymore..."

"Yes, you ca—"

_"No..."_ She raises her voice, but then, brings it back down, "No..."

Abby doesn't know exactly what to say. She is now aware of the risk that Robin might take drastic measures. Many times before has the thought crossed her mind—but now she is almost certain that Robin might lose her grip on reality and end it all. Abby glances down at Robin's arm that's laying on the armrest, and after a moment, she reaches out and puts her hand on her wrist. "Rob," she speaks softly, "I'm so _worried_ about you." She pauses. "You'll find yourself again. _You will_." She stares into Robin's broken soul and tells her, smiling sweet encouragement, "Y'know, it's okay to hold on to somebody..."

She looks into Abby's gentle eyes and grins, "Yeah." She looks at the table—a subtle look of tired desperation etched on her face. Her lights are dimming. A kind of lethal hopelessness is setting in. She lowers her voice to a whisper, "Yeah."

**

* * *

**

**-Part 20-**

**"Divided We Fall" **

_They say the mind bends and twists in order to deal with the horrors of life...sometimes the mind bends so much, it snaps in two. _

Kerry, Susan, Abby, Neela, Gallant, Sam, and Dr. Carl DeRadd—chief of Psychiatry—stand at the admit desk, holding a small meeting. They glance at each other, waiting for someone to say something.

"I think it's suicidal behavior," Susan tells them, breaking the silence.

"Plus, after all I've heard," DeRadd says, "I think it might be PTSD—in fact, I'm _sure_ of it. She seems deeply disturbed."

Robin sits in the lounge at the round wooden table doing chart reviews. The room is dark, except for a lamp near the table that is on and the light bleeding through the blinds hanging in the window. Her mood is lighter than before—probably because she has something keeping her busy.

walks in suddenly, "I need you in Trauma 1."

Robin keeps writing, "I can't _do_ trauma, remember?"

"It's Gallant!" she exclaims.

Robin looks up suddenly, _"WHAT?!" _ She shoots up from her chair and moves swiftly to the door. Abby holds it open as Robin walks out.

As she looks at the admit desk and sees Gallant, Robin's eyebrows buckle. "What's goin' on?" she asks, not realizing the intervention.

"We need to talk to you about something," Neela says sullenly.

Her feet become frozen. She doesn't know whether to run away or wait for the roof to cave in. She puts her hands on her hips, "About what? What'd I do?"

Kerry tells her, "You didn't do anything."

"You guys are freakin' me out, **_what_** the hell's goin on?" Robin questions with urgency in her voice.

Kerry starts, "You attacked Morris a little while ago—"

"_Oh_, I thought you said I didn't do anything," Robin says sarcastically.

"We're worried about you," Sam tells her.

Robin looks around at her friends—calm, but with an angry expression. "I'm _not_ drinking and I'm _not_ a junkie, alright?"

"We didn't say that you _were_," Abby says.

"Plus, it would make your diabetes harder to deal with physically. You haven't had any trouble since we diagnosed you," Gallant informs.

"We're worried about your state of mind," Kerry tells her.

Robin stands still. "Oh, I see what's goin' on," she says. "Is that why _you're_ here?" she asks DeRaad.

He nods, then says, "We all think that—"

"No, no!" she exclaims folding her arms, "I see! Ya'll think I'm losin' it, right? I've blown a gasket, so now you're all _ambushin' _me, is that right?"

Sam tells her calmly, "That's not what this is—"

"You can all just _save_ it, alright?" Robin says, putting her hands on her hips and moving around nervously in her place.

Susan speaks up, "Rob, you need help." She pauses. "We think you developed post-traumatic stress disorder over the last eight months."

Abby pauses before she adds, "And we're worried that you're thinking about suicide."

A loud silence engulfs everyone as they wait for a reaction. "You think that I wanna kill myself," she states, "well, that makes me feel even **_better_**." She pauses. "Look, I'm _sorry_! I had no idea you all were this worried about me." Her tone is one of scorn. "That's it..." she says in a flat voice, "I'm done." She backs away and starts for the lounge, as fury and frustration crash through her.

Abby follows her, angered by her ill temper, "Do you think it's **_easy_** for us to _see_ you like this? We would've said something to you a long time ago, but we were scared that you wouldn't get help!"

"It doesn't matter," she shouts as she turns to face them, walking toward the door still, "you should've **_said_** something before it got this **_bad_**!"

Abby stops and watches the door close.

Everyone watches sullenly. They go to pieces when they look at her, and they know she's troubled, and she says she's not. They can't manage this lie between them.

Kerry decides to talk to her—walking past Abby and bursting through the door.

As the door shuts, Kerry watches as Robin rummages through her locker, "What are you doing?"

"Gettin' some of my stuff." She puts on her black coat and puts things into the pockets. Slamming the locker door shut, she moves past Kerry—leaving the room without another word.

Abby stands outside the door and chases after her as she storms down the hall. "What, are you gonna _disappear_ now, like Romano?"

She stops in her tracks and turns around slowly. "Okay, I saw something that no one else should've seen this afternoon...and I've got some questions for some of you. Neela, **_who_** were you arguing with today during a trauma?"

"Dr. Romano."

"Ah, **_Morris_**," she says, seeing him walk up to everyone, "**_who_** was in the ambulance bay yelling at you when he found you smokin' a joint?!"

He looks at everyone nervously, but says nothing. "Romano," she answers for him. "Alright," she speaks to everyone with emphasis, "**_who_** has everyone been asking about for hours? Dr. Romano!" She pauses. "Susan and Gallant, what was I yelling at Morris about?"

"He said something that you thought was offending," Gallant informs everyone who was not there earlier.

Her voice booms as she holds her hands out from her sides, palms up, "And **_who_** was it about?"

"Dr. Romano," Susan mutters, confused.

Releasing a ragged, defeated breath and letting both hands fall heavily from the shoulders, Robin takes her voice back down, "Burn that name in your mind for a while. Think about everything that's happened today. You'll figure it out... It's outta my hands now..." She turns and walks to the ambulance bay doors.

"Where are you _going_?" Kerry shouts.

Robin stops and turns around, "Home."

Kerry walks toward her along with everyone else. They all stand in front of the desk. "You are _not_ leaving this hospital yet!"

_"I CANT **DO** THIS ANYMORE!" _she screams, her velvet voice rubbed threadbare. Silence falls. She stands at the doors—her countenance blank and sick with despair, run-down physically and mentally. Such desperation, such fear in her expression. Her eyes cry for serenity. Comfort. Robin's troubled thoughts have broken her. Then, she turns to leave and says with a voice that's utterly heart-wrenching,"I quit."

Abby grabs her arm and stops her, stepping in front of her, "You are _not_ quitting on us. You can't. I won't let you."

Behind Robin's eyes lies hope, and everyone else can see it—except her. She's pulling away from them again, the way she's been doing gradually over the past few months; she's keeping things bottled up inside—on the brink of self-destruction—and excluding them. She looks at everyone and tells them, "I became a liability a long time ago... You're all wastin' your time with me..."

_"No..." _Abby says, catching Robin's gaze again and stopping her as she starts to walk away from her, "talk to us... Let us help you..."

Robin sighs and looks down, then back up at her, "Fine, okay... Then, I just need some time."

"How long do you need?" she asks.

Robin closes her eyes, "I don't know... Now you guys have to let me go..."

Abby looks at her—searching her eyes—then finally whispers, "Okay." She steps slightly to the side, and she lets go of Robin's arm and turns around as she walks out.

Robin walks to through the ambulance bay like a ghost.

Everyone keeps their eyes on her as she stops beside the burnt shell of the helicopter—which is almost ready to be hoisted by the crane. In a way, they feel like they've gotten impatient with her, but they want her to get well. It's unbearable that perhaps she's alone with these thoughts again, utterly resigned, unutterably sad, giving herself over to death. They want to comfort her. They want to be comforted. They don't want to be alone with their thoughts. There's no doubt in their minds that she's fragile. They know she wants to be alone, but they can see she's crying out for attention. Her eyes consume them.

She looks back at them, expressionless and disturbed—her happiness has all but vanished. She looks at them pleadingly, or so it seems to them, as though her eyes are begging them to keep her from slipping away. She's become acutely aware of her own limitations. She glances back at the wreckage; then, continues on her way to an unknown future. If she goes down, like passengers on a ship they are all going to go down with her. The bonds that they share, the unit that they are as a family, is irrevocably tied to her and them.

She pulls her coat tighter around her as the wind pries with its stiff fingers at the very foundations of her soul... She looks mortally wounded. She is destroyed.

_...Time does not heal, _

_It makes a half-stitched scar _

_That can be broken and again you feel _

_Grief as total as in its first hour. _

Elizabeth Jennings

* * *

**-Part 21-**

**"The Flesh and the Spirit"**

The dimmed lights of the grand church glow as Robin quietly slips in. She has not been in a church since she and Susan went with Abby to one of her A.A. meetings. She admires the beautiful stone walls, and her eyes are drawn to the ceiling—which rises at least three stories. She feels small compared to everything—like how an ant looks to a grown person.

She sighs and drops her gaze to the floor, then walks slowly down the aisle. She keeps her eyes glued to the front of the cathedral where dozens and dozens of white candles line the walls and floor. Her footsteps echo loudly within the stone walls. She is so distraught and heart-stricken that everything around her is like a vivid dream—her eyes only see abstractions of her surroundings; and her hearing is intensified, making her footsteps, heartbeat, and breathing sound as if bombs are exploding right next to her.

An eternity later, she reaches the steps—filled with the white candles. She stands between the two rows of pews at the very front of the cathedral. She stares at the large crucifix on the stone wall above the candles. The warm light makes the shadow of the crucifix dance above it. Then, she spots a small table over to the side of the steps with new, unlit candles stacked on it. She walks over, takes two, and steps back over to the front. She gets down on one knee, lights one candle and places it in a tiny spot in the first step—doing the same with the second, and placing it next to the other.

The first candle is for Robert, the other fatalities, and the entire hospital. The second is for herself—a doctor who has endured many personal tragedies within such a short amount of time, and who has not been able to recover from any of them. To her, her significance has waned and is now a thing of the past

She stares at the flames of the candles, but sees no light in anything at all—no essence. She closes her eyes and bows her head slightly. Then, she touches her forehead, chest; and first, her left shoulder; then, her right—forming a cross. She opens her eyes and gazes at the flames once more in the mute silence.

Robin sits isolated in a pew near the front—her eyes have no life in them whatsoever. The stained glass windows high above grab her attention. Faint blue light bleeds through—forming an arch around the soft yellow glow of the candles. She looks at the beauty in front of her—watching with heavy-lidded eyes—and tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Other than the tears, there is no emotion. Blankness is written on her face. Suddenly, she speaks—softly to herself:

_Hail, Mary! Full of Grace, _

_The Lord is with thee, _

_Blessed are thou among women, _

_and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. _

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, _

_pray for us sinners, _

_now, and at the hour of our death. _

_Amen. _

Robin has spoken these words many times before. Tears continue to fall from her eyes as she sits in silence—questioning her own existence.

Leaning forward with her elbows resting on her legs and her hands laced together, pressed against her mouth, Robin is heartbroken. Thoughts race so frantically through her mind that she almost thinks of nothing at all. The depth to which her discontent reaches is indescribable. She's in a constant state of restlessness and misery—almost inconsolable.

Her problem is so perplexing, even _she_ cannot describe how disabling it is. It's like a cancer that eats away at your spirit and everything that makes a person _who_ they are. Eventually, all that's left behind is a shell of a person that you once were: pessimistic, cynical, unruly, pensive, morose, obscure, trite. It's as if you are the exact opposite of yourself—broken inside.

That's what Robin has become, in lieu of the unforseen horrors that have plagued her life—and the entire ER—and turned it upside down. Nothing has any meaning anymore, as the doctor spirals deeper into black. She can barely discern one thing from another at this point; she feels like she's trapped in a fun house room filled with mirrors—no matter where she turns, there is no way out. She begins to think about her friends and how she keeps pushing them away—she needs them now. They need her.

_"Remember, Robin..."_

Suddenly, Robin sees images flash in her mind:

_"You're diabetic..." _she hears Abby's voice as she remembers sitting on the gurney next to her. Her voice echoes as another memory blends with this one. _"Dear God," _Neela's voice rings, as she sees herself laying on the floor and being hit with the tire iron. _"I have to know what happened to me," _she hears herself tell Susan as she walked out of the hospital, then remembers Susan comforting her after she came back. Suddenly, images from just hours ago filter in. She hears the echo of the helicopter blades as she sees it tumble over the side of the roof. She hears her voice scream out, **_"DR. ROMANO!!"_ **as the chopper landed on top of him. Her voice echoes, but the crash is silent. Disturbing.

Her eyes are wide with horror as she snaps out of her trance. Tears trail down her face, her eyebrows buckle and bend upwards as she tries to fend off a breakdown. Her efforts, though, are futile. She closes her red-rimmed eyes, brimming with tears, and begins to sob—bowing her head and running her fingers through her hair. Her voice echoes quietly. For the first time in over a month, Robin _feels_—her numbed emotions have finally risen to the surface and she can feel once more.

The church is now unusually silent. Robin sits, staring at the soft glow once again. Her eyes are lifeless, bloodshot, and weary. Her face is pale and expressionless.

After hours of sitting in the same spot, she rises from the pew—but she stands in her place once she is up. She keeps her eyes to the front of her, unable to look away. But, finally, Robin lowers her gaze as she walks out into the aisle. She looks over to the right at the exit, then looks the other way again at the display of candles and light. After a moment, she glances at her feet and begins to walk out. Her footsteps ring throughout the cathedral, as they did earlier. It seems that her exit is almost endless—but then, she reaches the beautiful arched doors at the end of the aisle.

Robin pushes the doors open and steps out into the bitter cold that is Chicago. She sighs—noticing her breath in the air, and makes her way down the stone steps. She is a walking death.

_I am standing on the threshold of eternity at last, _

_As reckless of the future as I have been of the past; _

_I am void of all ambition, I am dead of every hope; _

_The coil of life is ended; I am letting go the rope. _

_I have drifted down the stream of life til weary, sore oppressed; _

_And I'm tired of all the motion and simply want to rest. _

_I have tasted all the pleasures that life can hold for man. _

_I have scanned the whole world over til there's nothing left to scan. _

_I have heard the finest music, I have read the rarest books, _

_I have drunk the purest vintage, I have tasted all the cooks; _

_I have run the scale of living and have sounded every tone, _

_There is nothing left to live for and I long to be alone. _

_The story told by Tolstoi in comparison to mine _

_Is moonlight unto sunshine, as water unto wine; _

_The jealous pangs I suffered, the sleepless night of woe _

_I pray no other mortal may ever undergo. _

_Already dead but living, a fact that I regret, _

_A woman without desire excepting to forget; _

_And since there is denied me one, why should I linger here, _

_A dead leaf from the frost of a long-forgotten year? _

Unknown – "On the Threshold"

* * *


	8. Chapters 22 through 24

**-Part 22- **

**"Reminded"**

You stand in Robin's bedroom. The room is dusky, abandoned. Shades are drawn and the bed is made. A pair of blue scrubs lays haphazardly on the bed, as if Robin is planning to change out of her green ones. An eerie, evil calmness lurks in the air.

In the kitchen, diabetic supplies are slightly strewn about on a small portion of the counter next to the fridge. A few dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. A red button blinks on the phone hanging on the wall—alerting Robin of her new calls and messages.

Sections of newspaper clutter the dining table. A blanket has been thrown over the back of the sofa, and an umbrella is propped against the door frame. The light coming in under the door is disturbed as someone walks up to it. Keys rustle; the doorknob turns. It opens slowly, and Robin walks inside. The light from the hallway hits the wall where she had hit her head and slid down onto the floor. The small indentation has been patched up and painted over, but she still knows that it's there. The light shrinks until it disappears when the door is shut. As she walks over to the couch, she takes her coat off—letting it slide off of her shoulders and down her arms, dropping to the floor. She takes a seat in the middle of the sofa—feeling out of place and unwelcome in her own home. She is not quite sure about what she should do. She sits, like a bundle of rags, in isolation and wonders about what she is doing here exactly.

Loss. That's what's in here. Grief, sorrow, wordless and unfathomable.

She hears a knock at the door.

An awful terror takes hold. Her heart skips a beat as she stares at the door—her eyes not blinking. She pushes herself up, standing ever so slowly. Her body tightens with every move. Before she knows it, she is walking toward the door. Her breathing becomes shallow, and her heart races uncontrollably. Disabling the locks—some of them newly installed for her—her hands tremble. Opening the door only far enough as the chain lock will allow, Robin peeks out into the hall. A small surge of relief is apparent on her face. "Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, thank God."

A couple in their late 40s stands in the hall.

She closes the door, disables the chain lock, and opens it again.

"Dr. Shepherd," Mr. Bennett smiles, "we hate to bother you as soon as you get here, but we wanted to see how you're doing."

She smiles at the fact that they are wearing their pajamas and robes—the landlords live in the same building, along with the tenants. "It's no bother, really. But, uh, were you asleep? I mean it's after 2:30," Robin speaks, rubbing the back of her head—confused as to how they know she would be coming back in the wee hours of the morning.

"Well, we _were_ asleep until about an hour ago," Mr. Bennett explains, "that's when your friend Abby called us from the hospital and told us that you were coming home—or she _hoped_ that you would come home. She told us to call her back if you never showed."

Robin leans against the door frame, nodding her head as she listens.

"Oh, and by the way," Mrs. Bennett adds, "we restored your electricity the other day, and _boy_ was it time-consuming!"

Robin grimaces, "Oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that."

Mr. Bennett chuckles, "Don't worry about it. After all, it was that _woman_ who cut the wires to your apartment, not you!"

She grins slightly and looks down at the floor.

"Well," Mrs. Bennett begins, "we'll leave you to get settled back in. And let me tell ya, we're gonna get that elevator fixed. If anything bad happens to you or anyone else, we don't want your friends to have to climb all those stairs again."

"Alright, thank you," she smiles.

They head down the hall, "You're welcome! You need anything, you let us know!"

"Will do!" Robin says before she closes the door. Her grin disappears quickly, and she locks all of the locks back with lightning speed—her hands flying from one lock to the other. She turns and stands with her back against the door; then, closes her eyes and bangs her head on the door in frustration. She sighs and walks rigidly back to her spot on the couch and sits; her head feels heavy. She rests without moving a muscle—just sitting, staring, feeling the ever-present aura of despair circling in the air and in her blood, and detached from the world outside.

_Woe to him that is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up. _

Apocrypha – _The Wisdom of Solomon _

* * *

**-Part 23-**

**"Night and Day" **

_Winter lasts far past its season._

The television shines brightly in the almost-pitch black apartment. Robin sits on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table and her hands in her lap. Her eyes are wide, a blank stare on her face. She channel surfs—looking for something interesting. Finally, something catches her eye on a religious channel: a woman wearing outrageous colors—and amounts—of makeup and a pastel purple wig. She is promoting a show that comes on later in the morning. Robin smiles and laughs continuously throughout the entire commercial; as her laughter fades, she talks to the TV screen in a blank tone, "We can't put it all in God's hands... God's busy." Then, the show comes back from the break. She gasps and says to herself—sounding all of ten years old—"_Davy and Goliath!! _I love this show!"

Suddenly, she becomes very chipper. She is probably the only person in the ten-story building who is still awake—being that it is four o' clock in the morning.

Light from outside tries to make its way into the apartment, but it cannot; thought the room is somewhat brighter. It is now after nine, and Robin has changed the channel to VH1. As she watches a commercial that shows Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and other "popular" singers, Robin scoffs and talks to herself as if someone else is in the room with her: "Look at this **_crap_**! If people think they're positive role models, they're one chicken nugget short of a Happy Meal! They can't even **_sing_** for God's sake—sounds like a freakin' cat **_chokin_'** to death! Oh, **_sweet_** Lord, that must be what evil sounds like!"

She grimaces and opens one eye; then, shakes her head in disgust and scoffs as she changes the channel, _"Dirty sluts." _

She reaches the Sci-Fi channel; then, raises her fists above her head,"Woo,_ Hellraiser_!!"

So far, Robin has been awake for over 24 hours—which is obvious now. She is so into themoviethat she does not hear the phone ring. The answering machine picks up after about the fourth or fifth ring:

_"Robin, are you there? It's Susan. Rob, if you're there, **please** pick up; everybody's worried sick about you. I've been calling all night and so has Abby—she called me earlier when you didn't answer. If you haven't listened to your messages by now, just know that everyone's called you. We found out what you were talking about," _she pauses_. "Why couldn't you tell us? You didn't have to keep it inside you like that." _She sighs, _"Listen, just call **somebody** so we'll know you're okay. Please." _

With that, Susan hangs up the phone. The answering machine stops recording.

Saturday, 10:47 p.m.

Robin has not slept in almost 62 hours. She has yet to turn on a single light in the entire apartment; sitting in darkness for two-and-a-half days. You can see the dark circles under her eyes as she sits watching _Laverne and Shirley _on Nick-at-Nite. The light from the TV gleams. Her eyes are bloodshot and red. With each noise that comes from the hallway, her paranoia escalates. Thoughts of her sleepless mind race at lightning speed.

Suddenly, a woman's voice comes from the hall. Robin blocks out the television in her mind. Adrenaline flows.

_"Do it, Robin."_

She quickly kneels down onto the floor and searches her coat for something. She pulls out a pistol from one of the pockets. As she tries to find the bullets, she watches the door with a crazed look. She fumbles with six bullets in her hand. Then, she takes the clip out of the pistol, loads the bullets, and puts the clip back into the handle. She stands and walks to the door, checking the locks. She walks toward the TV slowly—readying the gun to be fired—and suddenly hears the door slam from down the hall.

_"Do it now."_

She turns around swiftly with both arms outstretched—as a police officer would. She stares the door down—her eyes not moving; not blinking. She stands like a statue for the longest time. Then, she blinks and lowers the weapon—standing drained of all energy now. Her mind is a haze.

_(As time passes, Robin moves around the room. Shots blend together. She leans against the wall next to the door. She then gazes out the window after opening the blinds. She rests on the arm of the couch—the TV off and the blinds closed again. She ambles around the living room over and over again, holding on to the weapon still. She leans on the back of the sofa, looking at the floor; then, she pushes herself off of the couch and slowly walks through the kitchen.) _

Night hangs like a prisoner as Robin sits on her bed staring into the kitchen—deadened to the world. She sits dazed, drawn into herself, staring wordlessly, as though this is a psychiatric ward. Closing her eyes, she bows her head. She then looks over at the pair of scrubs—which she had put out the night of the attack. She is surprised that the police had not taken them in for possible evidence. Then, she glances over to the clock on the window sill. _12:09 a.m. _Robin stands, walks over to the phone in the kitchen, and starts to listen to the messages she has received in the past couple of weeks.

_Madness need not be all breakdown. It may also be breakthrough. It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death. _

Ronald Laing – _The Politics of Experience _

Sunday, 4:11 p.m.

After some much-needed sleep, Robin wakes up in the dim apartment. When she sleeps, she hardly stirs, as though her whole body is conserving energy for the sake of the mind.

She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling above her. Nameless faces and disembodied voices taunt her and manifest themselves within the shadows. They belittle her and mock her as she lays here, motionless, listening to the arcane sounds that seem the blend into a loud, insane cacophony. Thoughts travel at the speed of light, building louder and louder into a crescendo. The walls seem to breathe.

_"You know who I am..."_

The phone rings. The faces fade away, and she looks over to her nightstand. She has brought the cordless phone, along with the pistol, into the bedroom with her. The answering machine picks up, but she doesn't move—just keeps staring at the phone.

_"Rob...it's Abby. You have to help us. We don't know how to help you. We don't know what to do. You haven't picked up the phone in three days; you're still living in the place where you were almost killed; you saw Romano get killed... You need help. You need to talk to somebody... It's lonely at work now—we want you back." _Abby pauses for a moment. _"We miss you... If you need any of us for any reason, call or something, okay? Please." _

The answering machine shuts off. Robin stares at the ceiling. Nothing there. She silently prays for relief and happiness. She feels guilt; a sudden guilt so harsh and of such intensity that it makes her writhe and moan in her place. Never fully awake; never soundly sleeping. Never unbearably uncomfortable; never at ease. She is walking in an endless tunnel—but instead of the light at the end, it is darkness. The light shines from behind her. When she falls asleep, her soul becomes consumed in a black void. She wanders deeper into oblivion.

Monday, 5:52 a.m.

The clock ticks steadily through the night, breaking infinity down into finite parts. The time moves on, the calender changes, but the pain stays the same. Laying in bed and losing sleep still, Robin stares at her cordless phone as she holds it in her tired hand. She doesn't want to call, but she knows that she should. A few more moments pass with her staring blankly at the handset, then, before she can stop herself, her thumb wanders over the buttons—pressing in the phone number. With a sigh, she puts the phone to her ear and stares at the ceiling; listening to the ringing, Robin wants to hang up—she doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Suddenly, a man's voice comes through the receiver.

"Frank..." she says flatly, "it's Robin."

His voice can barely be heard, but you can tell he's concerned.

"Just, uh...just tell everybody that, uh..." she can't help but stumble over her words, "tell 'em...that I'm alright... I haven't done anything stupid yet, okay?"

He talks to her for another moment.

"I gotta go, alright?"

He doesn't want her to hang up yet but gives in.

"Okay...bye..." She presses a button, hanging the phone up, and lets her weak arm fall back onto the bed. She stares hopelessly at the ceiling—wishing she could just drift off to sleep and never wake up. She thinks of what was and what is, and she feels she could cry forever for the loss. The worst feelings are of terrible pain and sorrow, knowing that the ones she loves so much are suffering. She tumbles further down with each passing second...closer to the end.

Frank hangs the phone up and turns to see if anyone was standing there listening. He sees Sam, Abby, and Luka going over a chart and not paying any attention.

Luka glances over to him and does a double-take, seeing his expression. "What is it, Frank?"

"Uh...that was...that was..." he stumbles, and then, reasserts himself. "Robin just called," he says softly.

The three stand motionless—dumbfounded.

"Well, did she sound alright? What'd she say?" Abby asks—not being able to get her words out fast enough. Her tone is one of frustrated concern.

"She said that she's alright..." he says, "and that she hasn't done anything stupid yet..."

The word "yet" grabs their attention, as it did Frank's when he talked to her.

"Yet..." Sam says down-heartedly.

Luka takes a deep breath and looks down at the floor.

Abby runs her hands through her hair and takes in some air.

"Someone's gotta go check on her," Frank says.

"I will," Abby tells them quickly. "I get off at six."

"Good...good," Luka says, nodding his head. "The sooner we get to her, the better... In fact, you might want to leave a few minutes early..."

"We can't get there soon enough," Sam tells them.

Silence drags on. They wish she could just stop and go back to the way she was, but they know that she can't. They're desperately afraid and worried about her. She has somehow lost her grip on life. They feel as though her life is on the line. They know it.

_There sighs, lamentations, and loud wailing resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sounds of hands, made a tumult which is whirling through that air forever dark, as sand eddies in a whirlwind._

Dante's _Inferno_

Monday, 6:15 a.m.

Morning is only 45 minutes away—on the night's heels, so to speak. The beginnings of broken evil sunshine filters through the walls of the cell—the seclusion—she's holed herself up in; she closes her eyes to it; she doesn't need its warmth or its healing light. She wants to stay here in darkness, pale, her mind and heart bleeding, wishing for an escape into reality, but she finds none. She has lost all confidence. Her soul is empty. She is weak, hollow, alone—at the edge of an abyss.

She lay in the dawn, coexistent with the sadness and the familial sense of loss. She studies the ceiling once again. Her sluggish mind cannot be moved—her senses dulled. The pain creeps throughout her body. The gloomy calm of idle vacancy and her radiant misery fill every crack and crevice of the apartment. As the bleak realities of life crowd in, she wraps herself in the blanket of her own reflections. The long, dark nights of her soul have enveloped her. The walls continue to breathe.

She no longer awakens in the morning feeling refreshed; she's tired and tells herself that she has one less day to live in this world. She doesn't even recognize her own face anymore. Each morning, the depression and bone-deep fatigue comes closing in on her like a fog; it's impossible not to see it. She shuffles through her life, dreading every moment of every day. It's not even a day-to-day struggle anymore, it's a minute-by-minute battle with herself. With no dreams, she finds that words like "hope" and "faith" are only letters, randomly put together into something meaningless—words only for fairy tales. She's slowly turning into a vegetable, losing touch, losing her grip, losing her will to live. At the core of her soul, she hates herself more than anybody or anything. She's come to believe that everything that's happened to her or around her is her own fault, because she's let it go on for so long. She's become an emotionally handicapped, debilitatingly depressed doctor with a blown-out mind, useless, junk, an annoyance and an embarrassment. She's so depressed she can barely function and won't get out of bed. Scaling Everest would be easier than getting out of bed at this point. It's too hard for her, too taxing, too demanding, too stressful. There's a pain raging inside her, a pain she doesn't know how to soothe or handle. It eats away at her. She's told herself everything will work out, but it's like putting Band-Aids on fatal wounds. It doesn't work anymore. Each day she comes closer to her own destruction.

She ponders on the idea of a weed in a field of beautiful flowers. Surrounded by color and life, she herself is the dark weed—useless, without value. Unwanted. After her roots are pulled from the earth, the picture is untainted by her darkness, and beauty once again flourishes without her presence.

Sick of sorrow; sick of pain. She is utterly convinced that she has disappointed those she loves the most. She is toxic. She feels guilt about the problems she is causing her friends—still coming to grips with seeing herself as a person with diabetes and major depression. The prospect of taking six different medications—three for diabetes and three for depression—and facing the fact that she has two diseases, is endlessly traumatic for her. She is so unhappy she can't stand it. She is filled with a sense of a world that is lost; a self that is lost; and a hope that has been totally abandoned—doomed to be forgotten, like herself. Her whole world is made of disillusion and pity, nothing more than a mirage, transparent, nonexistent. She is empty inside, to the point of numbness. There is already something dead inside her, trapped in a black free-fall. She feels everything and all is pain—chipping away at her self-esteem. The fog keeps rolling in. She lives in a hell that never goes away—every day and every night, it haunts her hours of solitude. She feels imprisoned in an overheated room. Smothering confinement. She's given up on everything in her life, and can no longer escape her misery through work and her self-mutilation. She wants memory to secure her, console her, but she knows it won't. She wants to disappear and dissolve into nothing without anyone's knowledge. There is a dreadful hell that resides in her. Beyond time, beyond reality, beyond endurance.

_"Do it now, Robin."_

Robin thinks of the pistol and turns her head slowly. She stares at it—resting on the nightstand, her eyes as blank as a doll's—and knows it can all be over. _One second, one breath, one chance_...and everything will end. She stares at the trigger—the kill switch. She feels as though the termination of her life will be the most generous thing she can do for the people she loves. It taunts her endlessly. For a moment, she can visualize herself pulling the trigger, knowing that she would be gone in an instant. It's a comforting thought that promises an escape from her tormented life and all that she hates in the world. She knows after all these months there is nothing anyone can do. Somewhere in her mind, a part of her knows this is the logic of a deranged mind, but in the moment now, she can't pull her mind away. She's daring the fates to take her. She is helpless and at peace, at the mercy of her own mind—her own judge, jury, and executioner. She suddenly remembers that old saying, "out of sight, out of mind", and thinks that that's what will happen when she dies; she won't be around, so no one will think about her.

She couldn't be more wrong.

Robin lays motionless, until her limbs grow stiff from not moving—staring an intense, blinkless stare.

Walking up to the door, Abby gets the same overwhelming feeling she felt when she was here the last time. She thinks back to that night. Putting it away in her mind, she sighs and knocks.

Her eyes grow alert with fright. She is overtaken with anger as her arm jets over and grabs the pistol on the nightstand; it weighs heavy in her grasp.

_"Do it, Robin."_

She walks swiftly through the living room—her eyes fiery with frustration; her breathing shaken as she unlocks the door.

The sound of the locks relieves Abby in a way. She watches the door with anticipation.

Robin leaves the chain on and opens the door as far as it will allow. The light from the hall stabs her eyes, and she squints as she sees her friend standing there.

Abby's voice is soft, "Hi," and she smiles warmly. In her eyes, Robin looks like a walking death—lean-faced, sad-eyed. She has a distant look in her empty eyes—void of emotion; in her mind, she's not even here. Robin's so depressed and racked with misery that every time Abby sees her, her heart bleeds.

Robin looks at her with no response—closing the door back.

Abby is offended and starts to say something, but hears Robin taking the chain off of the door. She opens the door back and steps aside to let Abby in.

She's afraid to walk into her apartment—having such a powerful sense of her despair, and afraid of what she may find when she enters. Finally, after a moment, she walks inside, "Kinda dark in here, don't ya think?"

Robin closes the door and runs a hand through her tousled, messy hair, "Uh, yeah, I guess," and she takes a seat on the couch.

"Whatcha been doin' all this time?" Abby asks with a grin, ever so slowly walking toward her.

"A whole lotta nothin'," Robin tells her.

Abby sees her trying to keep something from her. "What's that?"

"Nothing," she answers, trying her best to put the gun between the arm of the couch and the cushion without looking too obvious.

"What is it?" Abby asks. She sits down next to her.

Robin pulls the gun out of the couch, holding it weakly.

Abby grows cold. Nervous. She hides it well. She can barely breathe. "Where'd you get the gun, Rob?" she asks in a calm, unthreatening voice—seeing how fatally depressed she really is, hovering on the edge of death.

Robin tells her, "It's a long story—"

"I've got time," she says quickly.

She sighs, "To make a long story short...the other night, a couple of hours after I left, I went to that Roman Catholic church and sat for a while—thought about everything. Then, I left, bought it from a guy downstairs, and came home..." She pauses. "They say you can't die of a broken heart... I think otherwise."

Silence fills the room as Abby looks at her—the light in Robin's eyes is no longer there, and she's filled with a certain sense of tragedy. Nothing but hopelessness can now be seen and felt. "Give me the gun..._please_..." she tells her, for fear that she'll lose her if she doesn't take it from her. Robin doesn't move or say anything, so Abby pleads with her in a whisper, while tears fill her eyes—on the verge of sobbing, "Rob, _please_... You're _scaring_ me..._please_..."

Robin hears the cry in her voice, and it breaks her heart even more. She feels vaguely ashamed—knowing that her atrophied soul has stirred her to contemplate suicide once again. She has rarely in her heart felt so strongly that she's betrayed someone she loves.

Abby reaches over after a moment and gently takes the pistol from her.

Robin doesn't put up a fight—the cool metal slipping out of her fingers.

Abby places it on the end table behind her.

"I got it for protection," Robin says blankly, "but, there was a huge part of me that wanted to end all the pain, y'know?"

But Abby does know...oh, God, how she knows...and how frightened she is for her.

"...But I didn't want any of you to find me like that... I couldn't do that to you... I need you."

Abby listens quietly, looking pained. She keeps her eyes on her—disturbed by the blankness of her.

"I just wish I could make this all easier for you," Robin says, her voice sounding flat and dead in her own ears. She smiles, still with such a sadness.

This in no way relieves Abby. It deepens her dread. "There's nothing easy about this," she says with a whisper, grinning dimly.

It pains them both to be here like this.

"I'm sorry, Abby," Robin whispers and meets her gaze—wanting to sink into her and sleep.

"It's okay," she whispers, opening her arms—allowing her to draw Robin into them, grateful for the contact; her head lands on her shoulder. Abby takes her other hand and strokes Robin's hair. It pains her so, Robin's voice—in a lower register than it used to be. All she wants to do is erase the darkness in her eyes, but she just holds her. She understands, as she always does. Always has. Always will.

Robin's misfortune has taken from her a part of her personality and her love of life. She is slipping away; slipping through the cracks. She needs someone now more than ever.

As she holds her in the silence, Abby thinks about everything the staff has said and done since Thursday night. Robin has been in the back of their heads the entire time. They have talked about her over lunches and breaks. They have seen her traits in their patients, and that made them think about her. They even mistook other people for Robin when they looked down the halls. She has been near their hearts.

All Abby knows is that this is not the end for her.

Robin's struggle with sanity is about to come to an end.

**

* * *

**

**-Part 24-**

**"Come What May"**

Tuesday, 8:39 p.m.

Robin is in bed once more, looking at the ceiling. Secluded. The constant downpour of anguish has turned into a grey drizzle. She rolls onto her stomach and stares at the pistol on the night stand—Abby has no idea that Robin bought a second gun, but she's taken the other. She's promised Abby that she won't do anything to hurt herself.

_"Do it now."_

She reaches out and picks up the gun, and then brings it closer to her face—looking at the details. She studies it for a few moments; then, reaches out again and opens the drawer with one finger. She looks at the weapon one last time and places it inside. She closes the drawer and turns her head away.

Hugging her pillow close, she quietly drifts off to sleep.

_A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; _

Ecclesiates 3:3

Wednesday, 4:32 p.m.

The bed is empty. The sheets wrinkled where her body was once resting. Blankets pushed back where she has gotten up.

You look toward the bathroom and see that the door is open. Robin stands at the sink looking at her reflection. Her eyes are no longer empty.

Over the past few days, whenever she studied herself in this mirror, in her mind's eye, the flesh of her face would melt and fall off in chunks into the sink; her eyes would sink back into her skull until there were just the gaping holes of her orbital cavities. It reminded her of the famous painting "The Screamer". She would blink and her face would return.

She runs her hands through her hair and walks out—turning the light off behind her.

She picks up the phone in the kitchen and moves to the dining table—where she has a fresh scrub top draped over one of the chairs. She dials a number and waits:

"Hey...Kerry...it's me." She pauses, "What do I need to do to see about comin' back to work?"

"Can I come talk to you today?

"Alright, I'll be there at five. Bye."

She puts the phone on the table and puts the scrub top on over her long-sleeved shirt. She walks over to the couch and picks up her coat—which still lays crumpled on the floor. She shakes it, then puts it over her arm.

She's opened the blinds throughout the entire apartment, so now, the late-November sunshine streams though the windows. It's a comforting sight.

Before she steps out, she takes a look around the apartment with a light sigh. Then, she opens the door and leaves; closing it behind her.

Hope lingers in the apartment.

Robin walks into the ambulance bay. The fresh, cold air refreshes her. She spots the memorial for Robert, but cannot look at it just yet. She promises herself that she will come out to admire it on her first break. She slows down as she reaches the spot where the helicopter had crashed. She stops on the exact place where Robert died and sighs. She, then, looks to the sky—thinking to herself, "Hey, Dr. Romano."

She smiles, and she makes her way to the ER: a place with an overwhelming sense of death—but also, with life. The automatic doors slide open. She steps into the light of the hospital, with the doors closing behind her—welcoming her back.

* * *

**_Well, there ya have it! That's all for this story---I'm sure some of you are actually happy that it's over, reading your reviews. Thanks to all of you who've at least looked at it, and thanks to those of you who've told me your opinions. _**

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